LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



LEGENDS 



[yrics^ Sonnets 



BY 



FRANCES L. MACE 



3 




BOSTON 
CUPPLES, UPHAM AND COMPANY 

©lo dorner Bookstore 

1883 



MI3 



Copyright, by 
Cupples, Upham and Company, 

1883. 



ELECTROTYPED. 

BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, 

4 PEARL STREET. 




CONTENTS. 



LEGENDS. 

ISRAFIL 1 

Hesperus 15 

A Legend of the Dawn 18 

The Birth of the Rose 29 

Baldur the Beautiful 32 

The Garden of Irem ,36 

St. Gregory's Guest . 40 

A Storm Fantasy 44 

The Tree Tuba 46 

The Century Plant 48 

A Tuscan Legend . . . . . . . .51 

The Heliotrope 53 

The First at the Feast 55 

Tears of Isis 57 

Vidar the Silent . .58 

Plymouth Rock 60 

norombega 63 

Kineo 67 

The Bowdoin Oak 72 



IV CONTENTS. 

LYRICS. 

Easter Morning 79 

Urania 83 

Only Waiting 87 

Arcadia 89 

A Buddhist Vision 93 

Greenwood Greetings 99 

The First Robin 103 

Violets 105 

The Feast of the Valley 106 

Pearls of Price 108 

The Signal Ill 

Dreamland City 118 

Recompense . . , . . . . .117 

Song Phantoms 118 

Up the River 121 

Hail and Farewell . 123 

A Seaside Picture 125 

Isis 127 

Lotus-Eating 129 

Sunset at Seal Point Cottage . . . . 131 

Black-Cap Mountain .134 

Riverside 137 

To Beethoven 141 

From Rome 143 

Oberammergau 146 

What Cheer ? 146 

A Vigil 149 

Indian Summer . 152 

Centennial Hymn 154 

Winter Our Cuest j . 156 

Immortelles 160 

Consolation 1G2 



CONTENTS V 

S O N N E T S. 

Orient to Occident 167 

Occident to Orient 168 

The Seven Days 169 

Longfellow 175 

Victoria 176 

To the Rainbow 177 

The Magic Flute 178 

Midnight 179 

Daybreak 180 

Friendship 181 

The Flower Painter 182 

Ebb and Flow .... ... 184 

Happiness 185 

Sounds from Home 186 

Far and Near .187 

Forest Worship 188 

Isolation 189 

Altar Flowers 190 

Star Solitude 191 

St. Cecilia 192 



LEGENDS. 




LEGENDS. 



ISRAFIL. 

ISRAFIL ! 

Stay thy sickle on vale and hill- 
Come from the woods whose gorgeous leaves 
Pale and wither beneath thy tread : 
Come from binding among thy sheaves 
Dearer blossoms of beauty dead, 
Of grandeur and of worth 
Wrested away from earth. 
Bend thy sorrowful eyes on me, 
Angel of death ! and while nature breathes 
One hour from thy sad dominion free, 
Tell me the mystery of thy woe, 
The legend I only have heard in dreams. 
Over my heart shall flow 



2 LEGENDS. 

In fuller measures the solemn strain, 
Up from depths of tears and pain 
Rising to patience, — rising again 
To a paean of triumph. 

Hush ! be still ! 

Whence this odor of amaranth wreaths? 

Whence these faint and starlike beams 

Shed from feet which make no sound ? 

A touch of fire 

Is on my lyre, 

And its strings with a sudden, rapturous, bound 

Thrill beneath the angel ringers. 

Thou art come — thou art gone ! 

Yet in all my being lingers 

A breath celestial, a voiceless tone, — 

I shall not utter my song alone, 

Israfil ! 

On Paradise 

A softer hue of glory lies, 

The hush of evening, for the night 

Comes slowly o'er young Eden's skies, 

Reluctant to conceal from sight 

One blossom's radiant dyes. 

A thousand birds amid the shade, 

To sleep their shining plumage fold, 



ISRAFIL. 3 

A thousand flowers that cannot fade 

Perfume afresh their leaves of gold, 

Far off, rising stars illume 

The gentle, yet half fearful gloom 

Which folds in deeper shade yon myrtle bower. 

There lost in slumbers pure and deep, 

Wrapt in the stillness of the hour, 

Unconscious yet of tempter's power, 

The first-born, guiltless mortals sleep. 

Lo ! down the airy waste 

Four shining angels haste : 

Their eager wings make music as they come, 

Flashing along the night, 

All redolent of light, 

As if the splendors of their upper home 

Reflected still illumed their earthward flight. 

On, swiftly on, past star by star, 

Leaving a path of glory far 

Behind their luminous wings, at last 

The measureless expanse is past, 

And at their feet in beauty lies 

The new-made, earthly Paradise. 

As when from envious shadow breaks 

Sweet Hesperus and walks the aisles 

Of heaven's blue temple, nature smiles 

And added grace and beauty takes, 



LEGENDS. 

So Eden, conscious in its dreams 
Of a diviner atmosphere, 
Breathes richer fragrance far and near, 
And in the angelic presence beams. 

A moment stay their steps to view 
Scenes to angel vision new, — 
Roses burdened with the dew 
By the tender night distilled, 
Birds whose last good-night is trilled 
Sleeping on the tremulous bough, 
Fountains white in moonlight glow : 
But a moment, for the night 
Deepens, and without the gate 
Evil spirits hide and wait. 
Each bright angel seeks his post, 
Armed, and mightier than a host 
Of the envious, guileful band 
That in outer darkness stand. 
Northward, southward, westward go 
One by one the heavenly guard, 
Clothed about with garments white 
That diffuse a silvery glow, 
Bearing each a sword of light 
With celestial jewels starred. 
Last with lingering steps that seem 
Loth to seek the nightly stand 



ISBAF1L. 5 

On the utmost eastern hill, 
Youngest of the angel band, 
Lovelier than a poet's dream, 
Comes the angel Israfil ! 

Now quicker in his noiseless tread, 

His silvery wings expanding spread, 

Half floats he in the air with deep delight 

As scenes of new enchantment meet his sight. 

His eyes of liquid azure, touched with fire, 

More beautiful than can be sung or told, 

Shine 'neath the aureole of his locks of gold, 

With a soft restlessness, a fond desire. 

Adoring beauty with a love 

Too passionate for one of angel birth, 

Even at this hour he pants to rove 

Amid the green bowers of the fragrant earth ; 

To hear once more the nightingale's refrain, 

To touch the humid, sleeping rose again, 

But most of all to see 

The latest miracle of Deity, — 

The revelation, unto angels new, 

Of loveliness they scarcely yet conceive 

As real, substantial, true, 

The first of human womanhood, 

The breathing form, the spirit pure and good, 

The garden's royal flower, the new created Eve. 



6 LEGENDS. 

O Israfil ! 

Bid thy impulsive soul be still, 

Until the morning wait ! 

Leave not the haunted gate 

Where even now, by evil sense aware 

Of thy untried and hasty mood, 

The serpent King with envious hate 

Whispers, to tempt thy angelhood, 

Of her the wonderfully fair, 

Whom but to look upon would be 

A rapture and an ecstasy. 

O Israfil, 

Keep well thy watch upon the starlit hill, 

Until the morning wait ! 

Then when the summons from on high 

Recalls thy comrades to the sky, 

She shall come forth, and with sweet converts 

greet 
The parting and the coming angel host. 
Stay thy impetuous feet ; 
One moment now absented from thy post, 
And all is lost. 
The serpent watches well : thou shalt return too 

late! 

An hour is past, 

All Eden sleeps in motionless repose. 



ISRAF1L. 7 

Around, above, he casts his restless eyes 

And sighs to think how long the night will last. 

The moon rides slowly, slowly down the skies. 

Surely far off have vanished Eden's foes. 

No evil spirit can be lurking near, 

No sound, no breath meets his attentive ear. 

So long the night, so deep the silence grows, 

May he not -wander at his wayward will 

If not too distant from the sentinel hill? 

Only a few light steps will bring him near 

The bower of which the angels oft have told. 

There in the moonlight clear 

A moment tarrying, he may behold, 

And seeing may believe 

That only he has learned how beautiful is Eve. 

As now with wilful steps he seeks 
The bower where she is slumbering, 
The dew brushed by his rapid wing 
From hanging boughs, falls on his cheeks. 
His feet are trampling in their haste 
The straying rose, a wildwood vine 
Whose flowers the mossy pathway graced. 
He starts, when in the bright moonshine 
A bird, awakened, trills a note, 
Then sleeps, the song still rippling from his 
throat. 



8 LEGENDS 

But soon he trembles, listens, doubts no more : 
All else forgotten he is bending o'er 
The violet bed, amid whose blest perfume 
Earth's fairest being sleeps, unconscious of her 
doom. 

She sleeps — she dreams — 

For now a smile hovers with tender grace 

About her lips. The beauty of her face 

A breathing wonder to the angel seems. 

Her dark eyelashes rest 

Motionless on the warm flush of her cheek, 

Her lips part softly, as if she would speak 

But had in dreamland lost the word she fain 

would seek ! 
One hand is lightly clasped about a rose 
Which fully open blows, 
Too blest to share its sister flowers' repose. 
And veiling her white breast 
Falls wave on wave of lustrous golden hair. 
Like one enchanted in the moonlight glow, 
The angel lingers still and murmurs low, 
" Daughter of earth, how fair ! " 

Israfil! Israfil! 

The cry rings through the startled night. 

The angels speed in sudden fright 



1SRAFIL. 

Toward the unprotected gate. 

On wings of fear flies Israiil — 

Alas ! he flies too late. 

His brother angels flashing by 

Already with pure sense perceive 

An evil lurking nigh. 

A change comes o'er the moonlit sky : 

The wind begins to sigh and grieve ; 

The garden feels a sudden chill, — 

The breath of coming fate. 

" Where hast thou strayed, O Israfil ? 

The serpent's taint is on the air. 

The son of darkness, once as fair 

And frail as thou, is come ! " 

He hides his face in his despair 

And stands before them, dumb. 

All night the angels to and fro 
Seek for the messenger of woe. 
He, subtle, silent, still eludes 
Their search. In densest solitudes 
Evades the lustre that is shed 
From their celestial tread. 
At morn, recalled, they seek the skies, 
But Israfil with drooping w T ings 
No longer heavenward can arise, 
To earth unwilling clings. 



10 LEGENDS. 

Through all that fateful day, hour after hour, 

With deepest sorrow thrilled, 

He stands invisible, apart, 

Sees evil warring with the human heart, 

And Eden's doom fulfilled. 

When in the evening cool the Lord appears, 

Sees the forbidden tree with broken bloom, 

The garden desolate and lost in gloom, 

The mortals hiding from his searching gaze, 

Israfil, speechless, hears 

Their fate pronounced, sees their repentant 

tears 
And death's dread shadow hanging o'er their 

days. 
And now on him the rays 
Of the Eternal Vision fall, the word 
Of his own doom is heard. 
" Since death by thee is come unto the earth, 
Be thou its messenger. Thy name shall be 
A terror unto all of human birth ; 
The shadow of the grave forever follow thee." 

In Eden it was early dawn. 

How changed since in the even-time 

The angel saw it in its prime. 

The erring mortals now w r ere gone : 

He stood within their empty bower alone. 



ISRAFIL. 11 

Above his head 

A little bird was warbling cheerily. 

The music mocked his speechless misery. 

He raised his hand, unconscious of his power, 

And grasped the bough which held the dainty nest, 

And the branch shrivelled in his hand ; with 

breast 
Panting in sudden pain, the bird fell dead. 
Aghast, he seized a flower, — 
The rose which Eve's fair hand at night had 

pressed ; 
Beneath his touch it withered ; bud and leaf 
Dropped dry and scentless. In a bitter grief 
He murmured — " This is death ! 
And this henceforth shall be my destiny, — 
To slay but not to die. 
To blight all things of mortal breath, 
All earthly loveliness to sere, 
All that yon beings hold most dear 
Must perish when my steps draw near. 
Nor can I shun my fearful power, 
Or spare from them one dreaded hour. 
Onward I go through all the years, 
Unheeding human prayers and tears. 
Let mortals seek through toil and fears 
Some transient gleams of love and joy, 
I follow after to destroy." 



12 LEGENDS. 

"Israfil!" 

The angel looked and bowed his face 

Before a brow whose sweet, majestic grace 

Had shone upon him oft in happier morn, 

From the Eternal hill 

Whose dazzling height reveals the Father's* 

throne. 
Immanuel the First Born 
Stood smiling on him in the early dawn. 
" Israfil, behold ! " 

The Son takes in his hand the withered rose, 
Its petals seem like magic to unfold. 
A new, celestial bloom, 
A heavenly perfume 
Through the awakened blossom breathes and 

glows. 
The Savior smiling lays it on His breast. 
He takes the dead bird from its broken nest, — 
It flutters, plumes its wings, 
Then rapturously sings 

And soars away toward the beaming Heaven. 
Then spake He — " Israfil, 
The Father to the Son a boon hath given. 
Go forth, but I am with thee. Do His will 
Who laid this doom upon thee, and be still. 
Thou dost destroy, but thus can I restore. 
Angel of death arise, and hope once more ! 



ISRAFIL. 13 

From Abel's blood spilt on the altar stone 
To Calvary's cross which I must bear alone, 
Thou shalt be terrible to human kind 
And hope but dimly light the troubled mind. 
But from that grave which yields to me its 

portal, 
Faith shall come forth, the Comforter immortal, 
And thou, new-crowned, shalt be 
Seen by believing eyes linked hand in hand with 

Me!" 

Thus spake Immanuel, and ascending passed 
Again unto His Father's house, to keep 
Unbroken watch while time and sorrow last, 
Of His beloved who in death shall sleep. 
And Israfil arose, serene and calm, 
And with one last look upon Eden's bower, 
Went forth into the morning's fragrant balm, 
To wield forevermore his melancholy power. 

Israfil ! 

Let thy sickle return to the harvest that gleams 

White and wan on valley and hill, 

For my lyre is still. 

The song that I heard in the land of dreams 

Is sung, and its magic shall haunt me no more. 

Ever yet to the unseen shore 



14 LEGENDS. 

Bear earth's harvest, the loved and lost. 
Often thy shadow my door has crossed. 
I have seen thy icy fingers laid 
On lips that I loved and was not afraid. 
Following close on thy chill and gloom, 
Reaching up from the darkened tomb 
Was the very odor of heavenly bloom 
Shed from His garments who followed thee, 
And took my idols to keep for me. 

Israfil ! 

Come again at the Master's will. 
At thy cross and pang my flesh may shrink, 
But thy bitter cup I will dare to drink, 
And follow thee down to the river's brink. 
Through the breathless tide 
I will cling to the hand of the Crucified. 
And when I awake on the further shore 
I shall see thee no more 
Sad and shrouded in garments dim, 
But the angel of peace, and brother of Him 
Who crowned thee and blessed thee on Cal- 
vary's Hill, 
Israfil ! 



HESPERUS. 

Awake, O beautiful Hesperus ! 

Awake ! for the day is done, 
And the royal purple curtains are drawn 

Round the couch of the sleeping sun. 
There is a hush on the blooming earth, 

A hush on the beating sea, 
And silence, too, in the courts of Heaven, 

For the stars all wait for thee, 
Hesperus ! 
All things beautiful wait for thee. 

Tis the hour for fancy's fairy reign, 

When the glowing brain is fraught 
With visions of beauty and bliss and love 

That leave no room for thought. 
With the light of warm and glorious dreams 

This narrow chamber is bright, 
And I need but thee to sing with me, 

O sweetest poet of night ! 
Hesperus, 
Open thy volume of golden light. 

15 



16 LEGENDS. 

There may I read of the youth of old 

Who clambered the mountain height, 
And talked with stars in the midnight hours 

Till he faded from human sight. 
Till his brow grew bright with wonderful light, 

And aw r ay from the world's rude jars, 
He w r as lost in the beams of his radiant dreams 

And himself was the fairest of stars. 
Hesperus ! 
The best beloved of all the stars ! 

There may I read this legend rare 

And its beautiful meaning learn, 
While my soul new kindled to hopes divine 

With a holy fire shall burn. 
O never should human heart despair 

Of the presence of God on high, 

never should human faith grow 7 dim, 
While the stars are in the sky ! 

Hesperus, 
Thy voice is the voice of eternity. 

Thou art smiling down on me, Hesperus ! 
With that smile upon my heart 

1 know that kindred to me and mine 

In those measureless heights thou art. 



EE8PEBUS. 17 

When thy spirit blossomed into a star 

In the mystical days of old, 
The love and the hope it bore on high, 

The legend hath never told. 
Hesperus, 
Thy sweetest story hath never been told. 

O to be like thee, Hesperus ! 

To climb the heights of truth, 
And there to drink of celestial airs, 

To glow with immortal youth ; 
There wrapt in the light which is born in skies 

Where the blessed angels are, 
To hear earth's harmonies only rise, 

Floating sweetly up from afar. 
Hesperus ! 
How can my spirit be made a star ? 



A LEGEND OF THE DAWN. 

From a bed of velvet the Tourmaline 
Its crystal splendors of red and green, 
Toned and mellowed by milk-white bars, 
Flashed in the sunset. The prisoned rays 
Glittering, shimmering under my gaze, 
Now soft as the rainbow's melting haze, 
Now fierce and fine as the light of stars, 
Held me, thrilled me with magic glance ! 
All the fairest and wildest flights 
Of fancy, winged in Arabian Nights, 
Circlino; slow in bewildering dance 
Seemed to float o'er the jewel rare. 
Till half afraid, lest a look profane 
The spell-bound spirit imprisoned there, 
I turned away, — but all in vain — 
The mystery breathed from the page again. 

For there I read of pure and priceless ores 
Stored as by some malignant, fateful plan, 
In desert isles, on solitary shores, 
Beyond the reach and far from haunts of man. 

18 



A LEGEND OF TEE DAWN. 19 

Of wrath of winds and waters, storm and fire 
To baffle and to thwart the world's desire 
For precious stones ; and though with new 

delight 
Ao'e after age some treasure brings to sight, 
Brilliants unnumbered sleep in endless night. 
In secret still the jealous elements nurse 
The crystal blossoms of the universe. 

I closed the book. I lifted from its bed 
Of tawny velvet the enchanted stone. 
Again its fiery glance upon me shone, 
All sense of present, actual being fled. 
Backward, far backward in the dawn of time 
Floated my vision; in creation's prime, 
When Genii roamed in daring strength abroad, 
But living souls were hidden still with God. 

Can this be morning, — this light which breaks 
In utter silence o'er land and sea ? 
No bower in the forest, no tent on the lea, 
No sail on the rivers, no oar on the lakes, 
Nor voice, nor motion of grief or glee ? 
Even the sunlight, a languid ray, 
Lingers and dreams at the door of day. 
But hark ! what tone, what elfin strain 
Wakens the landscape to life again ? 



20 LEGENDS. 

" Come Genii of the deep ! 
Come, giant forms of the earth and sky ! 
Ye who toil without rest or sleep, 
Whose lips never smile and whose eyes never 

weep, 
But whose hands are mighty to gather and reap 
The beautiful harvest of diadems. 
Come, for the end of your toil is nigh. 
The days primeval are told ; 
The veins of the earth are full of gold ; 
The ocean's sparkling floor 
Lights up the waters with glittering ore, 
Over vast spaces like shadows creep, 
And come to the island of gems." 

A voice like music wafted from afar, 

Faint and aerial and unreal as are 

The utterances of all the soulless things 

Which of mysterious birth 

Move to and fro upon the living earth, 

Sent forth this wild and melancholy call. 

It floated out upon the winds, and all 

The breezy spirits spread their fragrant wings 

And bore it up and down the sea and land. 

It pierced the depths, and drowsy ocean stirred 

And sounded it again, till it was heard 

In deepest cave, on farthest icy strand. 



A LEGEND OF THE DA WN. 21 

Then to the island of flame 
Luminous far over tropic seas, 
Summoned by heralds of billow and breeze, 
Unnumbered Genii came. 
Gem of the ocean the island lay, 
Veiled with a mist of rainbow spray ; 
Nor leaf, nor verdure adorned the side 
Of the sloping cliffs, but far and wide 
Crystal masses of white and green, 
Beds of amethyst, paths of spar 
Spangled with diamonds brighter far 
Than noonday's radiant sunbeams are ; 
Terrace of rubies, like scarlet flowers, 
Sapphire violets, emerald bowers, 
Crimson and olive tourmaline, 
With banks of topaz whose azure gleams 
Were blent with pearl wreaths of silver sheen. 
Hither swiftly and silently came 
Spirits of billow and vapor and flame, 
Subject all to the beautiful queen 
Eola of golden beams ! 

She solitary on her brilliant throne, 
A seat of gold with vivid gems inwrought — 
Beheld them as they gathered one by one. 
Each to her feet some sparkling jewel brought, 
Which with new lustre in her presence shone. 



22 LEGENDS, 

Giants were they in form, and dark and grave, 
Their features neither hope nor sorrow w T ore ; 
In time's first hours to them the Maker gave 
Such endless life as earthly elements have, 
With strength and will to work the precious ore. 
Arrayed before the sovereign, as in turn 
Her shining glance on each one chanced to burn, 
The shadow brings, dusky, dark and stern 
Gave forth prismatic lights of various hue, 
Till like their own rich handiwork they grew. 

" Ye to whom power is given 
Over the secrets of land and sea, 
Mingling the life-giving beams of heaven 
With the dark vapors, the deathly mould 
That earth's abysses and caverns hold, 
Into the night of memory reach ! 
Borrow of winds and waters speech, 

And tell once more 
The work ye have wrought with the shining ore." 

Then one w T ho spake for many, bowed him low 
Before her throne. " Eola ! thou dost know 
We were of Chaos and of Darkness born. 
Without thee we were helpless, blind and weak. 
But w r hen the first Day grew to glowing morn, 
Daughter of Light ! thy glance had power to speak 



A LEGEND OF THE DAWN. 23 

Our torpor into life. By thee sent forth, 
Armed with thy beams, we wandered south and 

north 
And to remotest wilds of east and west, 
The purest treasure of the earth our quest. 
Where'er thy spear on desert rock or land 
Revealed a grain of unpolluted sand, 
Lustrous and clear, we bore it to the strand 
Of mighty ocean, and the salt sea wave 
Planted in priceless beds the seed we gave. 
Flames wrought beneath the ocean, central fires 
Upturned the depths, and laid on every shore 
Perfected miracles of precious ore. 
Xow we rejoice in thy fulfilled desires." 

Then hastily bending down, 

One laid at her feet a crown 
From whose central jewel seemed to unfurl 
Petals of opal with frosts of pearl, 
And sprays like dew-drops on yellow sheaves. 
"The light of thy love, O queen ! 
We have wrought into brilliants of purple and 

green, 
Into blossoms that never shall lose their sheen, 
Xor their glowing, beautiful dyes. 
Each glance of thy sunny eyes 
Some happy spirit delighted weaves 



24 LEGENDS. 

Into deathless beauty. Let thy command 
Speed on our labors. From every land 
Let us bring the spoil, till the final day 
The reign of the human shall end our sway."' 

As some fair tree white with perfected bloom 
Waves slowly to and fro, and slowly fall 
The snowflake petals, till the verdure all 
Is strewn with drifts of prodigal perfume, 
So now Eola, sun-born spirit, shook 
Her waving tresses with a mournful smile, 
And falling beams illumined all the isle. 
" That day has come, O genii ! ye may look 
Even now upon the new created one 
For whom all days their wonder work have done. 
My spirits, do ye not remember well 
When from the vast, blue dome above, there fell 
A Voice which shook the firmament, and ye 
Heard the Invisible utter His decree — 
" Let us make man ! " the angels heard and sung 
Paeans with which the whirling planets rung, 
But in the deepest shade 
Ye hid yourselves, sore troubled and afraid. 
O Genii ! know that unto the last day 
Of the creation only, we have sway. 
The world is ripe for man ; we phantoms must 
away ! " 



A LEGEND OF THE DAWN. 25 

Then sounds and sighings of woe 

Through all the island were heard, 

And the waves of the listening ocean stirred 

And beat on the fringing coral reef 

With a sullen, angry flow, 

And an undertone of grief. 

"Ah! we remember, queen! 

We too have the omens seen 

Of creation's ultimate change. 

It was not for us that the waters rolled 

And left the isles and continents free. 

It was not for us that verdure and tree, 

Foliage gorgeous and manifold, 

With flowers like jewels of red and gold, — 

Robed the valleys and wreathed the hills ; 

Not ours the shadow of oak and palm, 

And fruits that ripen with breath of balm ; 

Not ours the music the wild bird trills 

Nor the strength of the forest. 

But say, O queen, 
What later signal thine eyes have seen." 

Slowly she spoke — the shining lustre shed 
In fainter sparkles from her beaming head. 
"I saw, O children of the fire and flood, 
A garden which your feet have never trod. 



26 LEGENDS. 

Vast, beautiful and rich with foliage rare, 
Earth has no vale so spacious nor so fair. 
And in the midst one walked, of lesser height 
Than we, but firm, compact, and fair to sight. 
He spoke — his voice rang out distinct and clear; 
The beasts with mild obedience drew near, 
And the birds hushed their delicate notes to 

hear. 
I glided closer and by him unseen 
Watched his superior step, his fearless mien, 
Until with brow uplifted to the sky 
He said aloud ' Our Father ! ' from on high 
The Voice that called the days to life replied, 
And I fled trembling from the garden's side. 
Alas ! in fearful haste I dropped a gem, 
The brighest star from out my diadem, 
Low at his feet it lies, 
Mocked by the fairer bloom of Paradise. 

"But not for the new born race 

Are the treasures that ye have won 

My children of fire and sun ! 

Still in some secret space, 

Some hidden grotto of earth or cave, 

In mountain granite or black sea wave 

We will find a resting-place. 



A LEGEND OF THE DAWN, 27 

To your utmost depths ye sons of fire ! 
Ye foam-tressed waves roll wilder, higher, 
Snow spirits, winds, your plumes outspread, 
Daughters of sunlight o'er wide earth flee — 
And wherever a mortal foot may tread, 
Gather in haste and bring to me. 
We will bury our jewels in mountain and main, 
And the mighty, hereafter, shall seek them in 
vain." 

Silent and swift the genii now began 

To hide the riches they had wrought, from man. 

Into great rifts of mountain rock they poured 

The gold a thousand centuries had stored, 

With gleaming sands the river beds were sown. 

Masses of crystal, violet, rose, and white, 

Tinting the waters far with colored light, 

Into the secret ocean depths were thrown. 

Hard was their toil, nor did Eola shun 

To give them aid, though daughter of the sun. 

At sunset all was ended. Gathered there 

Upon the island desolate and bare, 

Dim, wavering forms already fain to flee 

The presence of unknown humanity, 

They looked upon their queen. She took her 

crown, 
Of its lost gem despoiled, and cast it down 



28 LEGENDS. 

Into the waters. From her shoulders fell 

The mantle of the sunbeams. " Now, farewell, 

Sweet light of day ! " she uttered — " We will 

keep 
Eternal watch within the unsounded deep. 
Woe to the hand that for the prize may dare 
In toil and pain to search. The rock shall be 
Of adamantine strength : the trusty sea 
Unwilling yield one golden grain, and care 
And ill unmeasured be the victor's share." 

Fading, fading away, 

Lost in the dying day, 

The Genii vanished from sea and shore. 

Loudly lamented the winds ; the sun 

Sunk among vapors ashy and dun, 

The rain-clouds sobbed as the night begun, 

The island trembled and quaked with woe. 

There w r ere sounds of feet going to and fro 

On the ocean's echoing floor, 

But moaning tempest, nor midnight rain, 

Nor morning sunlight could call again 

The Genii forth. With charm and sign 

They had touched each gem of their boundless 

store, 
The door was sealed of each golden mine, 
The pathway darkened forevermore. 



THE BIRTH OF THE ROSE. 

Long ago a lovely wood nymph, 

Flora's fairest child, 
Roamed Arcadia's velvet meadows, 

Silent, shy, and wild, 

Until Death, enamored, met her 

In her beauty's glow, 
Touched her with his lip of marble, 

Kissed her cheek to snow. 

Flora found her 'mid the blossoms 

Beautiful and still. 
"Help !" she cried, "ye happy dwellers 

On the purple hill ! 

" Wrest from Death the fairest being 

Ever missed from earth ; 
Let the flower of nymphs inherit 

A celestial birth." 

See the shining ones descending! 
All Arcadia gleams. 

29 



30 LEGENDS. 

First Apollo warms her forehead 
With electric beams : 

Bacchus bathes her lips with nectar 

Worthy of the god : 
Her white feet Vertumnus covers 
With a fragrant sod. 

Lo ! the radiant transformation ! 

One by one unclose 
Tendrils, leaves, and snowy petals 

Of the perfect Rose ! 

All the nymph's remembered graces 

Hover round the flower, 
Sweetness, tenderness, and passion 

Still her beauty's dower. 

Soon the praise of the Immortals 

To a richer flush 
Warms the rose — her colors brighten 

To Aurora's blush ; 

Then the nightingale in rapture 

Warbles sweet and long 
Till a hue of love's vermilion 

Answers to his song. 



THE BIRTH OF THE ROSE. 31 

" Bloom forever nymph enchanted ! " 

The Olympians cry — 
" Kindred both to earth and heaven, 

Thou shalt never die ! " 

Down through centuries of blossom, 

Ages of delight, 
Still the royal rose of summer 

Opens on our sight. 

And the half-bewildered fancy 

Through the fragrant bowers 
Searches for the haunting mystery 

Of this flower of flowers. 

5 T is the nymph so deftly hidden 

In a leafy shrine, 
In her golden heart still throbbing 

Memories divine. 

Ever silent, ever seeing, 

Every heart she knows, — 
All thy love, thy hope, thy longing 

Whisper to the Rose ! 



BALDUR THE BEAUTIFUL. 

1st the far north, when the midsummer night 
Is but the sunset wedded to the light 
Of a new morning, upon cliff and hill 
Burns the bale-fire to Baldur : as its flame 
Salutes the sleepless sun, the Norsemen still 

Utter that sacred name, 
And year by year the wonder-myth is told 
Of Baldur, joy of men and gods in days of old ! 

On royal Asgard's height 
No god like Baldur beamed upon the sight. 
Others were mighty, — he was pure as light. 
Pleasant his voice as rivulets, his eyes 
Sun bright and radiant as midsummer skies, 
And his long yellow locks gave forth perfumes 
When the wind-giant shook with glee his eagle 
plumes. 

All living things adored him. Singing birds 
Their joyance caught from listening to his 
words, 

32 



BALDTJR THE BEAUTIFUL. 33 

Flames, floods, winds, lightnings, in accordant 

breath 
Vowed that to him should come no stroke of 

death. 
The ores and rocks, the mosses, vines, and trees, 

The strong, tumultuous seas 
Gave glad response, and it was sung and said 
By all the beams above, the shades below, 
The snow-white feet of Baldur ne'er should 
tread 

The path of wail and woe 
Down to the ice-walled dwelling of the dead. 
One thing alone was dumb, — the creeping 
mistletoe ! 

Thus in no fear of death, the gods at play 
Made him their target, while the midnight sun 
Smiled o'er the wide, pale moors with mellow 
ray, 

Half evening and half day, 
And Baldur lightly caught and tossed away 
Sword, lance, or arrow, till with victories won 
His brow grew dazzling, and the farthest fields 
Of Asgard were illumined, and the shields 
Upon Valhalla with his image shone. 

Then stepped the blind old god 
Hoder upon the arrow-sprinkled sod ; 



34 LEGENDS. 

He too would share the merriment. Ah! woe! 
To Baldur's heart sped straight the fated 
mistletoe ! 

Beautiful as a marble god he lay, 

When life had ebbed away, 
Or like a rose tree in its prime cut down 

With all its flowery crown. 
Time never knew a more despairing cry 

Than smote the startled sky. 
It reached the utmost depths of death and 

night, 
And Hela, goddess terrible to sight, 

Trembled upon her throne, 
And gazed on the white ghost she dared not call 

her own. 

But swift a messenger had followed him, 

And at the portals grim 
Knocked loud. "What ransom, Hela, shall 

be given 
By heroes of the earth and gods of Heaven, 
To win beloved Baldur back to life ? 
Already discord mutters sounds of strife 
And clouds of vengeance gather. Speak and 

take 
The wealth of land and ocean for his sake ! " 



BALDUR THE BEAUTIFUL. 35 

And as Valhalla's message borne above 
The mists of Nifflehem, on wings of love, 
Reached Hela's seat, with sudden pity moved, 
She spoke — " If Baldur was so greatly loved, 
Bid all the world to weep ; the heart-wrung 

moan 
Of every living thing may melt Death's heart 

of stone." 

The wide world heard and with a rain of tears 
Gave answer, but in all the countless years 
Baldur returns not, and no later skies 
Have smiled upon his vanished Paradise. 
Though the soft falling dews bring new-born 
day 

With fresh, alluring ray, 
The winter frosts dissolve in penitent grief 

And open bud and leaf, 
Baldur the Beautiful takes not his place 
Fairest of human as of godlike race, 
Earth has not tears enough to bring again 
Lost innocence, pure peace, — Heaven's primal 



THE GARDEN OF IREM. 

Where burns beneath Arabia's dazzling sky 
The desert waste of Aden, leafless, bare, 
A stately garden on the Elysian air 

Its beauty shed, entrancing every eye. 
An oasis of green, 

Brilliant with flowers and silvery waters' sheen. 

The fig and olive yielded fragrant shade, 

The vine with royal purple decked the wall ; 
Sweet was the music of the fountain's fall, 

Whose dancing drops among the roses played, 
And all the balmy night 

The bulbul trilled his tremulous delight. 

A palace in the midst arose, whose towers 
The sunshine mocked with gilded opulence, 
Its inner court reflected rays intense, 
Inlaid with gems that sparkled 'mid the flowers. 

Through glistening wires of gold, 
Birds rainbow-hued their plaintive numbers told. 

36 



THE GARDEN OF IREM. 37 

The doors were ever open, and the sound 
Of ceaseless mirth made day most musical, 
Never was heard the trumpet's warning call, 

For feast and pageant led the year around. 
Till Irem's happy name 

The symbol of terrestrial bliss became. 

Then suddenly — while yet the warbling lute 
Vibrated to the dancer's jewelled feet, 
The Simoom of the desert, fierce and fleet, 

Swept by, and Irem was forever mute ! 
A blinding sea of sand 

Hid the delight of all the mourning land. 

Long ages passed ; and men had ceased to heed 
The story, till Colabah sought one day 
A camel which had wandered far away 

Beyond Al Ahkaf's dreary plain to feed ; 
And as the hour grew late 

He found himself within a palace gate. 

High, gilded towers within a garden rare, 

A blooming waste from whence all life had flown, 
For vacant windows in the sunlight shone 

And fruit, unpluck'd, with sweets oppress'd the air. 
'Mid creamy blossoms hung 

Cages of twisted gold that empty swung. 



38 LEGENDS. 

A moment with strange rapture he perceived 
The blaze of beauty, then the deathly calm 
Smote him with sudden sense of nameless 
harm. 
Backward he turned ; yet fain to be believed, 

He grasped with hasty hand 
A few, bright pebbles from the sparkling sand. 

Then swiftly fleeing, to his comrades bore 
The tale of Irem's splendor lost and found ; 
Nor could they scoff, when, from his robe 
unbound, 
He showed his treasure of mysterious ore. 

For lo ! the sunset kissed 
Rare stones of topaz, agate, amethyst ! 

Vainly at morning's break they searched the 
plain 
For its hid treasure. The unanswering sands 
Kept well the secret of their Genii's hands, 
Nor yielded Irem to the world again. 

But with serenest flame 
Still glowed the gems and told Colabah's fame. 

Ah ! thus the Bard whom inspiration leads 
Into the realm of visionary thought. 
In hidden paths, by bowers divinely wrought, 



THE GARDEN OF IREM. 39 

Upon enchanted fruits his fancy feeds. 

Till suddenly he spies 
Unreal splendors deck his Paradise, — 

Then fleeing, half in rapture, half in fright, 
He seeks the world of daily life once more ; 
The charm is lost, the bloom, the brilliance 
o'er, 
Yet happy if he gathered in his flight, 
To shine through many days, 
One priceless gem of beauty, love or praise. 



ST. GREGORY'S GUEST. 

At St. Andrew's Convent gate 
Gregory, monk of pious fame, 

Day by day at vesper bell 

Heard a beggar call his name. 

And from prayer or chanted hymn 
By unwearied patience led, 

Still with helpful word and gift 
He the stranger comforted. 

All he gave : the relic last, 
Dearest of his meagre store, 

Not till then he pitying plead — 
" Importune me, friend, no more ! " 

Years passed on ; the lowly monk 
Sat upon the pontiff's throne, 

The tiara, with the heart 

Of all Rome, was now his own. 

Yet in high as low estate 

Gave he richly from his store, 
40 



ST. GREGORY'S GUEST. 41 

Twelve poor men each eventide 
Supped within his palace door. 

And as once he sat with them, 
Earnest each one's need to know, 

He perceived a stranger guest 
All the others placed below. 

To his steward beckoned he — 
" One unbidden friend is here — 

Go, salute him ! bid him take 
Freely of our evening cheer." 

Down the room the servant passed ; — 
" Only twelve are here to night." 

" Count again ! behold he sits 

Where the sunshine lingers bright ; 

" See his yellow, flowing hair 
Blending with the sunset flame ! 

Pale his brow, serene his gaze — 

I would know from whence he came." 

Once again with troubled haste 
Up and down the steward glides ; 

" Twelve good pilgrims sup with thee, 
And no alien 'mid them hides." 



42 LEGENDS. 

" It is well," the Father said, 
But his heart within him shook ; 

He perceived that in their midst 
One unseen the feast partook ! 

On the room a silence fell, 

Silence as of heavenly grace — 
Ah ! how burned the sunset gold 

On each pilgrim's bended face, 

And upon the threshold poised, 

Mindful of the unwonted spell, 
Lo ! a silver plumaged dove ' 

Trilled a mellow canticle ! 

One by one the guests withdrew, 

Then the stranger coming near 
Silent paused — the pontiff's lips 

Trembling asked — " What dost thou here ?" 

" Gregory ! at St. Andrew's gate 

Oft to me thy alms were given, 
Fear not now thy soul's desire 

In my name to ask of Heaven ! " 

As he spoke celestial rays 

Soft around his forehead flowed, 



ST. GREGORY'S GUEST. 43 

And his form from earth upraised 
In a violet nimbus glowed. 

Slow the shining vision passed — 
All his soul in thanks outpoured, 

Blessed Gregory cried aloud, 
" I have entertained the Lord ! " 



A STORM FANTASY. 

The lonely wind a Banshee of despair 

Wails through the wintry night, 
And the affrighted Moon, no longer fair, 

Veils her wan face from sight. 
She knows the signals of that voice and why 
With his keen moan he desolates the sky. 

The sad, sad Rain comes sobbing at his call, 
She smites the earth with tears — 

" There is no rest," she sighs — " no rest in all 
The ever-dying years. 

In cloudland hid I would forever stay, 

Why call me thence to weep my life away ? " 

Thus as the ages pass ; and who may know 

Or dare to tell again 
The legend of these spectres and their woe, 

The grieving Wind and Rain ? 
Lovers perchance in some primeval world, 
For darkest treachery into darkness hurled ! 

44 



A STORM FANTASY. 45 

Still mocked by hope and haunted by regret 

They seek the earth again, 
Yearning to meet each other they forget 

Their wish is always vain. 
For he has but a voice of wordless woe, 
She has but tears that blind her as they flow. 

O lost, lost spirits of the storm and night ! 

Listening to you I know 
There is a depth to which no ray of light 

From Heaven's expanse can flow. 
Come, Angel of the morning, come again ! 
Speak "Peace — be still!" unto the Wind and 
Rain. 



TUBA. 

'T is written on the flowery page 
Of Islam's visionary sage, 

That Tilba tree of happiness, 
Whose fruit shall all believers bless, 

Hath roots whose fibres strong and deep 
Beneath the world's foundations sleep, 

Yet never wind of earth shall blow 
The odors from one spicy bough. 

Far up beyond the walls of time 
The star-bespangled branches climb, 

Up through the musky gardens where 
Eternal sunshine gilds the air, 

And winged Houris flutter by 
To low, delicious melody. 

There over every palace door 
The boughs of Ttiba fragrance pour — 

46 



TUBA. 47 

And sweet bells hung amid the flowers 
Ring in and out the joyous hours. 

Has not the orient sage declared 

A truth which every soul has shared ? 

We pluck the green leaves of delight — 
The branches reach beyond our sight ; 

The germ of happiness is ours, 
But airs diviner hide the flowers. 

Here disappointment, gaunt and gray, 
Salutes us daily on our way, 

The truest love knows direst loss, 
The surest triumph bears a cross, 

And yet the soul may smile on fate 
And with most loyal patience wait, 

Believing that on heights unknown 
She yet will come unto her own — 

Where Islam's tree, transfigured, gleams 
With fairer fruit than Islam dreams ! 



In days of old, 
In solitude and silence grew the hour 
When God and Nature first beheld unfold 

The solitary flower. 

Purple as night 
Its petals opened in the forest gloom, 
And the winds pausing in their seaward flight 

Inhaled the strange perfume. 

The hoary oak 
Felt in its branches a responsive thrill, 
The eagle from his lonely eyrie spoke, 

And all again was still. 



n. 

Unwritten ages rolled 
Into the past, and as each century's bell 
Struck the full hour, the blossom would unfold, 

With none its tale to tell. 

48 



TEE CENTURY PLANT. 49 

At last the silence ceased, 
The desert wilderness a voice had found. 
Strange wanderers from the overflowing East 

Sought here a hunting ground. 

The shadow-haunted glades 
Echoed the savage song — the warrior cry — 
And wild, barbaric worship filled the shades 

With awful mystery. 

Life warm and new 
Through the dull fibres of the tree was shed; 
The swelling buds revealed a living hue — 

Tinge of the morning red. 



in. 

Not unblest 
The thousand years of silence and of night ; 
Unto the hidden gardens of the West 

God said — " Let there be light ! " 

And behold ! 
It blooms again, the latest flower of Time ! 
In the dark ages who could have foretold 

The glory of its prime ? 



50 LEGENDS. 

Palmiest days 
Of Grecian grandeur or of Roman pride 
Saw not their century bloom in such a blaze 

Of fame, full-orbed, world-wide. 

Heaven, bend low ! 
From the last, lingering gloom our land release ! 
Let the perfection of the ages blow 

White as the plume of Peace ! 



A TUSCAN LEGEND. 

When good St. Ambrose paused at close of day 
Before a Tuscan noble's open door, 

With welcome words the host his entrance urged 
And spread before him of his choicest store. 

Within, the palace shone with gems of art, 
Bronze, marble, gold, in forms antique and 
rare, 

Refreshing fountains tossed a snowy spray, 
And sumptuous roses sweetened all the air. 

The fasting saint with thanks the food partook, 
And with his fellow-pilgrims silent shared, 

Then, still reclining at the table, sought 
Of his kind host if well or ill he fared. 

Glowed with a haughty joy the Tuscan's brow, — 
"All things are well with me," his proud 
reply — 
•'My wealth provides for each luxurious want, 
Nor knows ambition one unanswered sigh. 

51 



52 LEGENDS. 

"My slaves, obedient, watch my lightest look; 

My children, beautiful, enhance my joy ; 
Pain, mourning, in this palace are unknown, 

My state is happiness without alloy." 

What said the saint ? Up from that lordly 
board 
He rose in haste, his visage pale with fear, 
And to the startled pilgrims cried aloud, 
"Flee from this place! the Lord abides not 
here." 

Outspoken saint ! Thy words may well convey 
Terror and comfort to the end of time ; 

Woe, to the soul sufficient to itself, 
But to the stricken, prophecy sublime. 

Grief is the shadow of the Lord's approach, 
Darkness, the pathway of the Bethlehem 
star, — 

Let him exult whom sacred sorrow leads 
To reach for God, and find He is not far! 



THE HELIOTROPE. 

Somewhere 't is told that in an Eastern land, 
Clasped in the dull palm of a mummy's hand 
A few light seeds were found : with wondering 

eyes 
And words of awe was lifted up the prize. 

And much they marvelled what could be so 

dear 
Of herb or flower as to be treasured here, 
What sacred vow had made the dying keep 
So close this token for his last long sleep. 

None ever knew, but in the fresh, warm earth 
The cherished seeds sprang to a second birth, 
And eloquent once more with love and hope 
Burst into bloom the purple heliotrope. 

Embalmed, perhaps, with sorrow's fiery tears, 
Out of the silence of a thousand years 
It answered back the passion of the past 
With the pure breath of perfect peace at last. 

53 



54 LEGENDS. 

O pulseless heart ! as ages pass, sleep well ! 
The purple flower thy secret will not tell, 
But only to our eager quest reply, 
" Love, hidden in the grave, can never die." 



THE FIRST AT THE FEAST. 

St. Martin once, an honored guest, 

Sat at the royal board ; 
With his own hand a cup of wine 

The gracious sovereign poured, 
And bade, with smiles, the favored priest 
Drink first, as greatest at the feast. 

The father took the sparkling cup, — 
With priceless gems it blazed, — 

And down the gleaming banquet hall 
In thoughtful silence gazed. 

How shone the place with splendors rare ! 

Was he indeed the greatest there ? 

What to the King of Kings availed 

This pomp of earthly state ? 
What unto Him were crown and throne 

And soldiers at the gate ? 
The flowers, the lights, the lustrous gold, 
The music that voluptuous rolled? 

55 



56 LEGENDS. 

Would Heaven's high Sovereign deem him great, 

Because a fleeting hour 
He sunned himself in royal smiles 

And shared imperial power ? 
Ah ! nobler far the humblest there 
Who meekly served in trust and prayer. 

"Not unto me ! " he spoke at last — 

And beckoned with his hand 
To a poor priest who waiting stood 

To hear his least command. 
" By worldly glory undefined, 
Drink thou, our Master's worthier child ! " 

The priest obeyed ; the monarch heard 

A voice beyond his own ; 
Nobles and warriors bowed in awe 

Of a superior throne. 
And in the hush St. Martin's face 
Seemed to illumine all the place ! 



TEARS OF ISIS. 

Whest Isis, by true mother love oppressed, 
Held wounded Horus to her goddess breast, 
Each tear that touched the sympathetic earth 
To some rich, aromatic herb gave birth. 

Such healing sprang from her celestial pain, 
Mortals no longer seek relief in vain, 
For oft as spring awakes the slumbering years, 
In wood and meadow blossom Isis' tears. 

O Goddess of the starry lotus bloom ! 
Thou didst foreshadow many a lonely doom ; 
Thy sorrow by divinest alchemy 
Could comfort others, — who could comfort 
thee? 



57 



VIDAR THE SILENT. 

When the last bird flutters southward 

As the sunlight fainter glows, 
And into the dim November 

A pensive stillness flows, 
When the mountain summits wrap them 

In robes of brown and gold, 
I think of the Norsemen's Vidar, 

The silent god of old. 

He dwells in the boundless forests, 

In pathless wilds unknown, 
He loves the breeze-rocked prairies, 

And the mountains are his own. 
In the bloom of songful summer 

He shuns the haunts of men, 
But he comes with the days of darkness 

To look on the world again. 

By the bleak and desolate sea-shore 
The waves their tumult cease, 

The rivulets know his footfall 
And tremble into peace. 

58 



VIDAR THE SILENT. 59 

The wind steals into the forest, 
The tall trees watchful stand, 
And the stars hang mute and pensive 
As he roams the leafless land. 

No voice nor speech has Vidar, 

And his features no man knows, 
But he lays his hand on the heart-strings 

And wonderful music flows ; 
As if the reverberations 

Of a long and sorrowful past 
Were slowly ascending and blending 

With the peace that shall come at last. 

Thus Vidar the Silent passes 

Over the world's wide space, 
Giving to all who greet him 

One beautiful hour of grace. 
Then welcome the tuneless branches ! 

Welcome the darkened days ! 
There shall be light on the shadows 

And in the stillness, praise. 



SONG OF PLYMOUTH ROCK. 

A thousand years I kept 

My watch by the slumbering sea, 

A thousand omens read 

Of the day that was coming to me. 

'T was uttered by wind and wave 
And whispered by cloud and star, 

" The soul of Freedom sleeps until 
The ' Mayflower ' sails from far." 

The tide came surging up 

From the depths of ocean's caves, 

And ever a promise brought 

Of the bark that would cross the waves , 

The tide went rolling down 

In surf and swell and foam, 
And ever I dreamed it ran to bid 

The M Mayflower " welcome home ! 

It fell with the falling snow, 
The word of fate at last, 

60 



80NG OF PLYMOUTH ROCK. 61 

And the hailing bell of freedom rang 
In the stormy, wintry blast. 

- sea ! " I said — " be kind ! 

Be faithful sky and star ! 
With priceless freight to all the land 

The "Mayflower" rides afar. 

She was moored within the bay, 
Pale fa lossom of the sea — 

And the boats went to and fro 
Until all were brought to me. 

I ha 1 waited long 

For the touch of those pilgrim feet : 
The wintry air grew redolent 

With incense strange and sweet, 

For the gate of heaven swung wide 

And angels thronged the air, 
As that Pilgrim band their voices raised 

In fervent praise and prayer. 

They were feeble, faint and few, 

That little sea-tossed flock, 
But never en earth will the echo die. 

Of that prayer upon the Rock. 



62 LEGENDS. 

The wanderers passed on 

To watch and toil and die, 
And the "Mayflower" homeward sailed 

And was lost in the morning sky ; 

But wide over all the land, 

Free as the sunlight's ray, 
Grow the fearless faith, the fervent zeal 

Which came to shore that day. 

Now evermore I watch 

By the side of the sounding sea, 
Muse and ponder and dream 

Of the glory that came to me. 

For Freedom crossed the deep 

To a heritage unknown ; 
The " Mayflower " was her ark of hope, 

The Rock her altar-stone. 



NOROMBEGA. 

Midsummer's crimson moon 
Above the hills like some night-opening rose 
Uplifted, pours its beauty down the vale 

Where broad Penobscot flows. 

The night is all in bloom 
With subtle sweetness from the skies distilled, 
The vesper wind in whispers steals along, 

By the soft silence thrilled. 

Of old the fairy world 
Held royal revel on midsummer's eve, 
Once more along the moonbeams they may come 

The twinkling dance to weave ; 

Or by the moonlight spell 
Entranced, and listening with attentive ear, 
The drowsy whispers of the ripening leaves 

And harvests, I*may hear. 

Now on the field of night 
No longer blooms one solitary rose ! 

63 



64 LEGENDS. 

With countless groups of silver-petalled stars 
The infinite garden glows, 

And the transfigured moon, 
Grown paler, clearer, like a lily white, 
Immaculate in beauty, hangs above 

The starry wreath of night. 

A splendid glamour drowns 
All sound in silence ; even the lapping wave 
Just trembles to the shore, with stilly touch 

The lonely rock to lave. 

And I remember now, 
That this is haunted ground. In ages past 
Here stood the storied Norombega's walls 

Magnificent and vast. 

The streets were ivory-paved, 
The stately walls were built of golden ore, 
Its domes outshone the sunset, and full boughs 

Hesperian fruitage bore. 

And up this winding flood 
Has wandered many a sea-tossed, daring bark, 
While eager eyes have scanned the rugged shore, 

Or pierced the wild wood dark ; 



NOROMBEGA. 65 

But watched in vain : afar 
They saw the spires gleam golden on the sky, 
The distant drum-beat heard, or bugle note, 

Wound wildly, fitfully — 

Banners of strange device 
Beckoned from distant heights, yet as the stream 
Narrowed among the hills, the city fled, 

A mystery, or a dream. 

In the deep forest hid 
Like the enchanted princess of romance, 
Wooing an endless search, yet still secure 

In her unbroken trance. 

city of the Past ! 

No mirage of the wilderness wert thou ! 
Though yet unfreed from the mysterious spell, 

1 deem thee slumbering now. 

Perhaps invisible feet 
White-sandalled pass amid the moonbeams pale, 
Yon shadow-wave may be some lordly barge 

Drifting with phantom sail. 

The legend was not all 
A myth, it was a prophecy as well : 



66 LEGENDS. 

In Norombega's cloud-wrapt palaces 
The living yet shall dwell. 

Fed by its hundred lakes 
Here shall the river run o'er golden sands, 
These hills in burnished tower and temple shine 

Beneath the builder's hands ! 

Where tarries still the hour 
When the true knight shall the enchantment 

break, 
Unveil the peerless city of the east, 

The charmed princess wake ? 

Till then, O River, tell 
To none but dreaming bards the Future's boon ! 
Till then guard thou the mystery of the vale, 

Midsummer midnight moon ! 



KINEO. 

THE LEGEND OF MOOSEHEAD LAKE. 

How beautiful the morning breaks 
Upon the King of mountain lakes ! 
The forests, far as eye can reach, 
Stretch green and still from either beach, 
And leagues away the water's gleam 
Resplendent in the sunrise beam ; 
Yet feathery vapors, circling slow 
Wreathe the dark brow of Kineo. 

The hermit Mount in sullen scorn 
Repels the rosy touch of morn, 
As some remorseful, lonely heart, 
From human pleasure set apart, 
Shrinks even from the tender touch 
Of pity, lest it yield too much, 
So speechless still to friend or foe, 
Frowns the black cliff of Kineo. 

Yet, as the whispering ripples break 
From the still surface of the lake 
On the repellent rocks, they seem 
To murmur low, as in a dream, 

67 



68 LEGENDS. 

The mountain's name, and day by day 
The listening breezes bear away 
A memory of the long ago., 
A sad, wild tale of Kineo. 

How many moons can no man say 
O'er heaven's blue sea have sailed away, 
Since Kineo and his fleet canoe 
First vanished from his kindred's view. 
Hunter and warrior, lithe and keen, 
No brave on all the lake was seen 
Whose wigwam could such trophies show, 
As the green roof of Kineo. 

But wrathful, jealous, quick to strife, 
He lived a passion-darkened life ; 
Even Maquaso, his mother, fled 
His baneful lodge in mortal dread. 
Then gathering round the midnight fire, 
The old men spake with threatenings dire 
" Out from our councils he must go, 
The demon-haunted Kineo ! " 

In sullen and remorseful mood 
He gave himself to solitude. 
Up the wild rocks by night he bore 
Of all he prized a stealthy store, — 



KINEO. 69 

Flint, arrows, knife and birch. Who knows 
But some dark lock or dead wild rose, 
The phantom of an untold woe, 
Shared the lone haunt of Kineo ? 

The mountain was his own ; than he 
None other dared its mystery. 
None sought to meet the savage glare 
Of the wild hunter in his lair : 
But when far up the mountain side 
Each night a lurid flame they spied, 
The watchful red men muttered low, 
" There hides our brother Kineo." 

Years passed. Among the storm-swept pines 

From moon to moon he read the signs 

Of blossom and decay. He knew 

The eagle that familiar flew 

About his path. The fearless bird 

His melancholy accents heard, 

But glen or shore no more might know 

The swift, still step of Kineo, 

Save once. His tribe in deadly fray 
Had battled all the lowering day, 
And many a brave Penobscot's blood 
Was mingling in the lake's pure flood, 



70 LEGENDS. 

When like a spectre, through the gloom, 
With gleaming knife and eagle plume, 
And glance that burned with lurid glow, 
Strode the bold form of Kineo ! 

A hush like death — and then a cry, 
Fierce and exultant, pierced the sky I 
They rallied round that fiery plume 
And smote the foe with hopeless doom. 
But when the grateful warriors fain 
Would seek his well-known face again, 
Their gifts and homage to bestow, 
Gone, like a mist, was Kineo. 

They saw him not, but from that hour 
They bowed before his wizard power ; 
His watch-fire grew to be a shrine 
Half terrible and half divine. 
None ever knew when death drew nigh, 
When into darker mystery 
Of cloud above or deep below 
Stole the sad ghost of Kineo. 

But when his camp-fire burned no more, 
The solitary mountain bore 
His name; and when at times the sky 
Grew dark, a long, despairing sigh 



K1NE0. 71 

Down the dark precipices rolled 
And tempest terrible foretold. 
The fishers feared the wind, the snow, 
The lightning, less than Kineo. 

Now beautiful the morning skies 
Look on this forest paradise ; 
Fresh voices, loud and joyous, wake 
The echoes of the grand old lake : 
But underneath that frowning height 
The shadow and the spell of night 
Come back : the oars fall still and slow, 
The waves sigh, Peace to Kineo! 



THE BOWDOIN OAK. 

Planted in 1802 by George Thorndike, a member of the 
first class of Bowdoin. He died at the age of twenty-one, 
the only one of that class remembered by the students of 
Bowdoin to-day. — Oration of T. B. Slmonton. 

Ye breezy boughs of Bowdoin's oak, 

Sing low your summer rune ! 
In murmuring, rhythmic tones respond 

To every breath of June ; 

And memories of the joyous youth, 
Through all your songs repeat, 

Who plucked the acorn from the twig 
Blown lightly to bis feet, 

And gayly to his fellows cried : 

" My destiny behold ! 
This seed shall keep my memory green 

In ages yet untold. 

" I trust it to the sheltering sod, 

I hail the promised tree ! 
Sing, unborn oak, through long decades, 

And ever sing of me ! " 

72 



THE B0WD01X OAK. 73 

By cloud and sunbeam nourished well, 

The tender sapling grew, 
Less stalwart than the rose which drank 

From the same cup of dew ; 

But royal blood was in its veins, 

Of true Hellenic line, 
And sunward reached its longing arms 

With impulses divine. 

The rushing river as it passed 
Caught whispers from the tree, 

And each returning tide brought back 
The answer of the sea. 

Till to the listening groves a voice, 

New and harmonious, spoke, 
And from a throne of foliage looked 

The spirit of the oak ! 

Then birds of happiest omen built 

High in its denser shade, 
And grand responses to the storms 

The sounding branches made. 

Beneath its bower the bard beloved 
His budding chaplet wore, 



74 LEGENDS. 

The wizard king of romance dreamed 
His wild, enchanting lore ; 

And scholars, musing in its shade, 
Here heard their country's cry — 

Their lips gave back — " O sweet it is 
For native land to die! " 

With hearts that burned they cast aside 
These peaceful, oaken bays ; 

The hero's blood-red path they trod — 
Be theirs the hero's praise. 

Oh, though Dodona's voice is hushed, 

A new, intenser flame 
Stirs the proud oak to whisper still 

Some dear illustrious name ! 

And what of him whose happy mood 
Foretold this sylvan birth ? 

In boyhood's prime he sank to rest ; 
His work was done on earth. 

Brief was his race, and light his task 

For immortality, 
His only tribute to the years 

The planting of a tree. 



TEE BOW DO IN OAK, 75 

Sing low, green oak, thy summer rune, 

Sing valor, love and truth, 
Thyself a fair, embodied thought, 

A living dream of youth. 



LYEICS. 



77 




LTEIOS. 



EASTER MORNING. 

i. 
Ostera ! spirit of springtime, 

Awake from thy slumbers deep ! 
Arise ! and with hands that are glowing, 

Put off the white garments of sleep ! 
Make thyself fair, O goddess ! 

In new and resplendent array, 
For the footsteps of Him who has risen 

Shall be heard in the dawn of day. 

Flushes the trailing arbutus 
Low under the forest leaves, — 

A sign that the drowsy goddess 
The breath of her Lord perceives. 

79 



80 LYRICS. 

While He suffered, her pulse beat numbly ; 

While He slept, she was still with pain ; 
But now He awakes — He has risen — 

Her beauty shall bloom again. 

O hark ! in the budding woodlands, 

Now far, now near, is heard 
The first prelusive warble 

Of rivulet and of bird. 
O listen! the Jubilate 

From every bough is poured, 
And earth in the smile of the springtime 

Arises to greet her Lord ! 



n. 

Radiant goddess Aurora ! 

Open the chambers of dawn ; 
Let the Hours like a garland of graces 

Encircle the chariot of morn. 
Thou dost herald no longer Apollo, 

The god of the sunbeam and lyre ; 
The pride of his empire is ended, 

And pale is his armor of fire. 

From a loftier height than Olympus 
Light flows, — from the Temple above,- 



EASTER MORNING. 81 

And the mists of old legends are scattered 
In the dawn of the Kingdom of Love. 

Come forth from the cloudland of fable, 
For day in full splendor make room, 

For a triumph that lost not its glory 
As it paused in the sepulchre's gloom. 

She comes ! the bright goddess of morning, 

In crimson and purple array, 
Far down on the hill-tops she tosses 

The first golden lilies of day. 
O'er the mountains her sandals are glowing, 

O'er the valleys she speeds on the wing, 
Till earth is all rosy and radiant 

For the feet of the new-risen Kingr 



in. 

Open the gates of the Temple ; 

Spread brandies of palm and of bay; 
Let not the spirits of Nature 

Alone deck the Conqueror's way. 
While Spring from her death-sleep arises, 

And joyous His presence awaits, 
While Morning's smile lights up the Heavens, 

Open the Beautiful Gates ! 



82 LYRICS. 

He is here ! the long watches are over, 

The stone from the grave rolled away ; 
" We shall sleep," was the sigh of the midnight* 

" We shall rise," is the song of to-day. 
O Music ! no longer lamenting, 

On pinions of tremulous flame 
Go soaring to meet the Beloved, 

And swell the new song of His fame ! 

The altar is snowy with blossoms, 

The font is a vase of perfume, 
On pillar and chancel are twining 

Fresh garlands of eloquent bloom. 
Christ is risen! with glad lips we utter; 

And far up the infinite height 
Archangels the paean re-echo, 

And crown Him with lilies of Light ! 



URANIA. 

From what superior star 
Gazing, entranced, afar, 
Didst thou first look on earth when earth was 

young ? 
Thou whom the singers of all days have sung, 
Spirit of Song ! by many names adored, 
Whose deep, sweet speech, the music of the 

soul, 
Our human utterance cannot yet control, 
Upon whose dazzling shrine are ceaseless offer- 
ings poured. 

When first thy sun-shod feet 
Pressed the new verdure, sweet 
With timid violet and virgin rose, 
When first thy rainbow plumage passing by, 
The shepherd bards discerned, ah ! rapturously 
They sought thy inspiration to disclose. 
With burning heart and glances raised above, 
Speech overflowed in song, and all their theme 
was love. 

83 



84 LYEIGS. 

Nor didst thou linger long 
In vales of pastoral song. 
Judea's harp thy fervid fingers strung. 
The groves of palm, the sacred rivers heard, 
The cedars upon Lebanon were stirred 
When David's lips immortal measures sung. 
And smoke of costliest odors rose to heaven 
With chorus and response by Hebrew voices 
given. 

On Orpheus' glowing lyre 
Was laid thy touch of fire ; 
By thy own lips, on Sappho's brow was pressed 
The mystic kiss which woke her soul's unrest. 
Unveiled by thee in thy most radiant mood 
The palaces that on Olympus stood, 
From whose charmed portals came at thy 
decree 
The gods of earth and heaven, the nymphs of 
air and sea. 

Then was the age of gold, 

When bards heroic told 
Heroic legends of primeval days. 
Then had the singer his full meed of praise, 
For thou didst touch the laurel with thy wand, 
And prince and warrior with exultant hnnd 



URANIA. 85 

Wove the bright bays around the minstrel's 
name. 
Their valor was his theme; his song their surest 
fame. 

Yet not by these was seen 
The splendor of thy mien, 
The full, unclouded glory of thy face ; 
These caught but glimpses of the light divine, 
And counting thee among the " sacred nine," 
Groped in the darkness for thy dwelling-place. 
Milton alone o'er elder bards prevailed, 
Upon the starry heights he saw thy brow unveiled. 

Dearer through ages grown, 
Thou wilt not leave alone 
The world thy presence has made half divine. 
Still countless votaries bow before thy shrine ; 
The Norseman's ringing ballad, the soft chime 
Of Spanish lute to silver-sandalled rhyme, 
The hymn of freedom by the sunset sea, 
Or Persia's passion-lays, all sacred are to thee. 

Some are content to reach 
The still, inaudible speech 

Of winds and woods and waters' rhythmic flow ; 

These know thee best in Nature's whispers low, 



86 LYRICS. 

And with the hem of thy rich garment pressed 
To tuneful lips, they are supremely blest. 
Others have caught a more transcendent gleam, 
And greet thee on the heights of prophecy and 
dream. 

Stay, thou resplendent one ! 
Not yet thy task is done, — 
Not yet the perfect song of ages sung ! 
A rose unblown it sleeps upon thy breast, 
Waiting to make some later Eden blest. 
Still be the halo of thy beauty flung 
Over dark days, dark years, until afar 
Above the new song's birth, thou smilest like a 
a star ! 



ONLY WAITING. 

Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown, 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown ; 
Till the night of earth is faded 

From this heart once full of day, 
Till the dawn of Heaven is breaking 

Through the twilight soft and gray. 

Only waiting till the reapers 

Have the last sheaf gathered home, 
For the summer-time hath faded 

And the autumn winds are come. 
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly 

The last ripe hours of my heart — 
For the bloom of life is withered, 

And I hasten to depart. 

Only waiting till the angels 
Open wide the mystic gate, 

At whose feet I long have lingered.) 
Weary, poor, and desolate. 

87 



LYRICS. 

Even now I hear their footsteps 
And their voices far away : 

If they call me I am waiting, — 
Only waiting to obey. 



Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown, 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown ; 
Then from out the folded darkness 

Holy, deathless stars shall rise, 
By whose light my soul will gladly 

Wing her passage to the skies. 



ARCADIA. 

We heard it first on an April morn, 

If rung by fairies I cannot tell, 
But earth was smiling o'er flowers new-born, 

And birds home coming to wood and dell 
With jubilant music saluted the dawn, 

When far in the distance we heard a sweet 
bell, — 
A flute-like echo, a dulcet strain, 
That pierced our hearts with a tender pain, — 
The bell-call of Arcadia. 

"Where can we find it?" we asked the wise 
Who musing sat in the willow shade. 

They, looking on us with wistful eyes, 
Answer vague to our question made : 

"Xor east nor west that fair land lies, — 
A seal of magic is on it laid ; 

But love and longing the spell unbind, 

And he who follows at last may find 
The hidden land, Arcadia. 

89 



90 LYRIC 8. 

"Down evergreen mountains in sparkling sheen 

A hundred rivulets seek the sea ; 
Flocks, snow-white, feed in the pastures green, 

And under the boughs of the dark fir-tree 
To shepherd minstrels of joyous mien 

The wood-god Pan pipes cheerily. 
Always summer days, blithe and long. 
Always melody, bloom, and song, 
In the fair land of Arcadia." 

We could not linger. With hearts that beat 

Wild with longing and fond desire, 
We followed the call of the bell so sweet. 

" Soon," we said, " will that sylvan lyre 
With witching welcome our senses greet. 

Ere sunset brightens yon purple spire 
We shall rest among roses our weary feet." 

Was it fancy? The dear home violets' eyes 
Seemed brimming with tears of sad surprise — 
But away to rare Arcadia ! 

Many a morning's ruddy tide 

Flooded the midnight's desolate bar, 

Many a sunset splendor died, — 

Yet Hope rekindled the evening star, 

And still o'er desert or mountain side 
We heard the silvery chime afar, 



ARCADIA, 91 

Calling " Hither, O pilgrim feet, 
Here your rest shall be full and sweet 
In green groves of Arcadia." 

At times the kiss of a sudden breeze 
With tropic odors our senses stirred, 

Breath of scarlet pomegranite trees 
And lotus blossoms. We surely heard 

The low, soft rhythm of summer seas, 
The brooding note of the Halcyon bird. 

Onward we pressed : so near, at last, 

One more brief shadow of woodland past, 
And then — our blest Arcadia ! 

But after the woodland, the black ravine, 

And further, a long, lone mountain height, 
There, as we clambered with saddened mien, 

In the fading Autumn's sunset light — 
For the leaves were russet that once were 
green — 

Pilgrims numberless met our sight, 
Snow-white locks on the evening wind, 

And mournfully, steadfastly looking behind 
They sighed, " Farewell, Arcadia ! " 

We too looked back, and a wonderful light 
Lay on the landscape our feet had passed ; 



92 LYRICS. 

Clearer the morning and softer than night, 
O'er all the road was the glamor cast. 

And there, revealed to our yearning sight, 
The beautiful valley lay at last. 

Far back where the April violets grew, 

There smiled, amid crystals of deathless clew, 
Our first and last Arcadia ! 



A BUDDHIST VISION. 
i. 

In his night-watch beneath the Banian tree 

Buddha, the blessed, saw the years unsealed, 
And change on change of wondrous destiny 
In his own life revealed ; 

Saw the long path of darkness and of pain, 
From tiger crouching in his jungle lair, 
To priest grown wan with fasting and with 

prayer 

Nirvana's peace to gain. 

If for one hour his vision we might share, 

His moonlight faith accepting, stand aside 
From the strong sunshine of to-day, and dare 
Down the dark past to glide, 

By what fantastic labyrinths of space, 

Through what ripe moments of unconscious 
doom, 
What endless links of motion, music, bloom, 
Our lineage we might trace! 
93 



94 LYRICS. 



II. 

My eyes were opened. Down the years unknown, 
In a dim forest I beheld afar 
A fragile plant amid whose leaves had grown 
One blossom, like a star. 

Nurtured in gloom, in speechless solitude 

It watched the hour which brought a sunbeam 
near, 
Thus opening, fading, many a hopeless year, 
Till strange unrest imbued 

Its feeble pulse. Unheard of all its kind 

Its first, last sigh was breathed. And lo ! no 
more 
A blossom, but a lightly wandering wind 
It roamed the woodland o'er ! 

Out where the sunshine gilded all the land 

It tossed the long plumes of the ripening 

wheat, 
Or seaward ran, the joyous waves to meet, 

And played along the strand, 

How long I know not. In a greenwood nook 
It found a rivulet dancing in the sun, 



A BUDDHIST VISION. 95 

It lingered, dallied, whispered with the brook 
Till wave and wind were one. 

O then what joy in melody new-born ! 
What dimpled, prattling infancy of song, 
In summer twilights beautiful and long, 
And in the rosy dawn ! 

Until green branches waving free and strong 
Mingled above the stream in choral high ; 
The brook was hushed, — it heard a nobler song 
And nearer to the sky. 

So when the summer burned along the lea, 
And fiery drought crept down the withered glen, 
The spirit of the brook went forth again 
Into a laurel tree. 

Now was it conscious of a larger life, 

Wide outlook, vigorous growth, the welcome 
change 
Of freshening foliage. Every pulse was rife 
With strivings new and strange. 

Exultant in its beauty, ardent beams 

Swelled the rich buds and burst the creamy 
flowers, 



96 LYRICS. 

Yet as it rocked the birds in tuneful hours 
It heard, as if in dreams, 

A note its solemn measure had not learned, 

A tone all other melodies above 
Of wind, or wave or boughs that skyward turned, — 
It was the note of love ! 

Stricken at last the tree gave forth its breath, — 

Far in a tropic nest a birdling stirred. 
O nightingale ! no passing wing of death 
Thy waking rapture heard. 

Cradled in roses, upon roses fed, 

Sweeter, diviner grew thy honeyed strain, 
The tender, haunting, passionate refrain 
Of many summers fled. 

Unto a state of royalty was risen 

The spirit which forever had desired 
A height untried, and like a soul in prison 
Still panted and aspired. 

There came a sun-winged seraph. Stooping low 
He whispered, " Singer, yet another change 
Must come. Thy song, to reach sublimest range, 
Must human sorrow know." 



A BUDDHIST VISION. 97 

And thus it came to pass one starry dawn 
The nightingale would never waken more ; 
But in the northland by a stormy shore 
A poet-child was born, — 

With many gifts and riches for his dower, 
The deep desire for beauty and for light 
Which rent the pale soul of the forest flower, 
And the intense delight 

In freedom which the roving wind had known, — 
Such rapture as had thrilled the brook, the 

tree, 
With love beyond the bulbul's minstrelsy, 
And sorrow's mightier tone. 



in. 

Return, O Vision ! Shed one other ray 

If from Nirvana or the holier Heaven ! 
The years fall fast, — the Poet must away: 
What new song shall be given ? 

The veil is dropt. Gautama's blissful shade 

Is vanished and the brief illusion fled. 
I only know that every life must fade, 
And silent are the dead. 



98 LYRICS. 

But if from many and from fair estates 
Comes the true accent to the Poet's lips, 
Rich heritage beyond this last eclipse 
The high-born Singer waits. 



GREENWOOD GREETINGS. 

The morning of the year 
Flushes again these northern glades. Awake, 
O slumbering branches ! Once again the cheer 
And comradeship of other summers take 
On your mute faces. Answer me again, 
And tell your winter's dream of ecstasy or pain. 

Then first the maples stirred, 
Their drooping blossoms trembling with delight, 
And said — " The night is over ! we have heard 
The brook rejoicing in the breaking light — 

The rapture of the rain 
Over the lost arbutus, found again; 
The sod grows velvet green beneath our feet ; 
Homeward the robins fly, and life again is 
sweet ! " 

The pine tree flung 
Its tassels to the wind and proudly sung, — 
"I dreamed of lands where over leagues of ice 
The skaters joyous flew. Of northern lights 

99 



100 LYEICS. 

Flaming along the skies in strange device, 
Of reindeer speeding through the glimmering 

nights. 
The forest trembled with old Odin's signs 
Of stormy pain, but all undaunted sung the 

pines ! " 

The elm returned — 
" Of summer was my dream the long night 

through, 
Of sunset-fires where myriad roses burned, 
Giving their beauty back in morning dew. 

Of interlacing boughs 
Festooned in arches meet for lover's vows, 
And of the golden robin's nest that clung 
Near to my heart, which throbbed whene'er the 
birdlings sung." 

Rough-hooded fir, 
Why dost thou beckon to the juniper 
With signs of joy? Slow waved her rustling fan 
As she replied: "I heard in my long dream 
The mellow pipe, far blown, of jocund Pan 
Invisible by wood and valley stream. 
He is not dead, the god of dell and grove, 
But with him, joyous still, the nymphs and 
satyrs rove ! " 



GREENWOOD GREETINGS. 101 

The poplar trees 
Their odorous buds all quivering in the 

breeze, 
Sighed — "Heavy was our sleep and dark 

with gloom 
The dreaded vision of the night. Of yore 
The fated poplar grew unto its doom 
And powerless fell. Shaped from its shuddering 

wood 
The Cross was fashioned. Now and evermore 
That woe returns. The stain of holy blood 
Our slumber haunts alway, 
And every waking leaf still trembles with 
dismay." 

The willow's plume 
Swept the warm sod with downy tufts of 

bloom. 
"O willow! thou dost ever earthward gaze 
And sighs are all thy language." And the 

tree 
Whispered — "I feel again the flowery days 
Of a new year, but spring the fair, the free, 
Cannot bring back the beautiful to me. 
There is sound of tear-drops in the rain, 
Of mourning in the air. The lost come not 

again." 



102 LYRICS. 

Ah! then the cedars bent 
Their glossy crowns and spake with deep 

content : 
" We have not slept nor dreamed the livelong 

night ! 
In our dark mantles wrapped we watched 

for light. 
We are the faithful. In our spicy boughs 
The breath of Lebanon forever flows. 
Summer or winter, life or death may be, 
Hope gathers garlands green from off the cedar 

tree ! " 

O kindred of the wood, 
Lift up your heads ! for now the sunrise beams 
Scatter the mist of darkness and of dreams : 
The world is made anew and it is good ! 
A thousand voices herald summer's day, — 
Let us drink deep from life's fresh fountains 
while we may. 



THE FIRST ROBIN. 

Welcome again, from the land of the summer, 

Bird in the maple with jubilant song ! 
Nodding and singing thy rapturous greeting, 
Where hast thou stayed from our garden 
so long ? 
Often the little ones looked from the window, 
When the soft snowflakes fell fleecy and 
dumb, 
Saying, " See, mother ! the white bees are 
swarming ; 
When will they go and the red robins come?" 

Rocked on the bough of the silver-leafed maple, 
Hast thou one sigh for the orange and palm ? 
Could the magnolia's sweet-scented blossoms 

Waft o'er thy sleep a more exquisite balm ? 

Bird of the North ! thou hast winged thy way 

homeward, 

Led by a love that was constant and strong, 

On the same bough that in other days rocked 

thee, 

Build a new nest, but, oh ! sing the old song 

103 



104 LYRICS. 

Herald art thou of the pageant approaching, 

The floral procession of Summer our queen ! 
Let the winds harken, and hasten the sunbeams 

To spread for her chariot a carpet of green. 
Bid the trees hang out their banners of welcome, 

Red and white banners of beautiful bloom ; 
Sing, happy bird, till thy comrades advancing 

Shall rout the last spectre of winter and 
gloom. 



VIOLETS. 

I know a spot where woods are green, 

And all the dim, delicious June 
A brook flows fast the boughs between 

And trills an eager, joyous tune. 

In clear unbroken melody 

The brook sings and the birds reply : 
" The violets — the violets ! " 

Upon the water's velvet edge 

The purple blossoms breathe delight, 

Close nestled to the grassy sedge 
As sweet as dawn, as dark as night. 
O brook and branches, far away, 
My heart keeps time with you to-day ! 
" The violets — the violets ! " 

I sometimes dream that when at last 
My life is done with fading things, 
Again will blossom forth the past 
To which my memory fondest clings. 
That some fair star has kept for me, 
Fresh blooming still by brook and tree, 
" The violets — the violets ! " 
105 



THE FEAST OF THE VALLEY. 

In elder days, beside the tawny Nile 

Where royally embalmed the Pharaohs slept, 

Year after year with pomp of flags and flowers 
A beautiful and sacred feast was kept. 

Feast of the valley : when the living bore 
Tribute of fruits and incense to the dead, 

Marching in gay procession, richly robed, 

By the proud voice of drum and trumpet led. 

And nothing doubted they that souls beloved, 
Sailing the blue skies in Osiris' car, 

Perceived in slumberous calm the fragrant gifts, 
And heard the music, as in dreams, afar. 

Thus in the garb of triumph we would keep 
Memorial Day, the New World's feast of 
flowers ; 
What shadow can the silent valley hold, 
Since glorified by such a faith as ours ! 

106 



THE FEAST OF THE VALLEY. 107 

With banners beautiful and songs that tell 
The pride and promise of sweet Freedom's 
home, 
Where sleep the sons who loved her unto death, 
With garlands and with trophies we will 
come. 

Fair was the grave beneath the Orient palms, 
While Heaven was dumb and yet unsealed the 
tomb, 

For us the heavy stone is rolled away, — 
The valley shows a light beyond the gloom. 

And from their white encampments on the hills 
Beyond our vision, the beloved reply — 

" Here Freedom smiles in a diviner air, 

And, oh, 'tis sweet for native land to die ! " 



PEARLS OF PRICE. 

Life, I fain would ask of thee 
Gifts that shall abide with me ! 
When the tinsel and the dross 
Fall away in utter loss — 
When my spirit trembling stands 
Just within the border lands, 
All that I have called my own 
Fading in that light unknown, 
Let me not with desolate heart 
See familiar joys depart. 

Thou art rich, O Life, and I 
For thy choicest guerdon sigh. 
Give me things that cannot die! 

Now while days are long and sweet 
In midsummer, — while my feet 
Falter not amid the bloom, 
And no warning signs of doom 
In the earth or sky foretell 
Swift departure, long farewell, 
Let me turn with strength divine 
From this bright, bewildering wine, 

108 



PEARLS OF PRICE. 109 

Life's illusion, — and perceive 

What at nightfall I must leave. 

Though it be through dearth and dole 
I would follow to the goal 
Treasure deathless as the soul. 

Wide and loving brotherhood 
With the gifted and the good, 
Fellowship and joy intense 
In glad nature's opulence ; 
Heart of calm and steadfast cheer, 
Friendship deepening year by year, 
Love that does not fear to wait 
For its answer at Heaven's gate, 
Faith, a beacon full in sight, 
Cloud by day and flame by night, — 

These are riches, treasure, power, 

Which outlive the fatal hour ; 

Buds of time which Heaven will flower. 

Surely down the sunset road 
Comes the messenger of God, 
Withering in his glance of fire 
Every fleeting, vain desire. 
At his touch will melt away 
Fairest idols made of clay, 



110 LYRICS. 

And in hopeless dust fall down 
Robe and wreath and rosy crown. 
Life, I will not let thee go 
Till thy utmost boon I know ! 

Let my soul's one triumph be, 
Ere we part, to win from thee 
Jewels for eternity ! 



THE SIGNAL. 

From yonder dormer window 

For many a year has shone 
A lamp whose nightly message 

Was borne to me alone ; 
For there a saintly lady 

Watched for my answering light, 
And to my little ones and me 

Wafted her sweet " Good-night." 

How often when the evening 

Shut down on days of care, 
When heart and brain were heavy 

With burdens hard to bear, 
That beam of tranquil brightness 

Her holier calm expressed, 
And to my troubled spirit spoke 

Of patience and of rest. 

To-night I sit in sadness 
To sing my cradle hymn, 

The window is all darkened, 
The house is bleak and dim ; 
111 



112 LYRICS. 

Across the fields of moonlight 
No glittering ray is shed, 

The lamp is out, the chamber dark, 
The saintly lady dead. 

But just above the gable 

With splendid beam afar, 
And with unwonted beauty 

Hangs low the evening star ! 
Is that to be my signal 

As years again go by ? 
Am I to lift my eyes and read 

Love's language in the sky ? 

I take the happy omen, 

The lovelight from afar; 
The watcher is exalted, 

The lamp is now a star! 
Still shall I read the message 

In golden letters clear — 
Still to my little ones and me 

The signal is " good cheer ! " 



A DREAMLAND CITY. 

Sometimes the guarded gates 
Of the unseen on outward hinges roll, 
And in deep dreams of night the troubled 
soul 
In bright, brief vision sees the glory of its goal. 

Some angel, watchful, kind, 
Stoops for the moment from his kindred band, 
Reaches, through veil of sleep, a pitying hand, 
And leads the Dreamer forth into a fairer land. 

Such boon to me was given, 
Thus to my sorrow came a sweet release ; 
Sleep's magic touches gave to pain surcease ; 
And forth my spirit passed into transcendent 
peace. 

A city beautiful 
Shone on my vision. Palaces of white 
And gleaming marble, in a noonday light 
Glittered along wide streets with pearly pave- 
ments bright. 

113 



114 L TRICS. 

Amaranth and asphodel 
Above each pillared door their blossoms 

hung; 
From every mansion mystic music rung, 
For Poesie was here the only voice and tongue. 

High in the city's midst 
Arose a Temple, as the sunset bright; 
Of flame-like splendor, dazzling to the 
sight, — 
Arch, column, altar glowed with an interior light. 

" This is the shrine of song," 
A voice beside me uttered. ( " This her home, 
Her chosen dwelling. Hither none may 
come 
But her beloved, her own. Fame's worshippers 
are dumb 

" Forth from her temple flows 
Perpetual inspiration. Glorious themes 
Break on the vision in ecstatic gleams. 
Embodied here the bard beholds his rarest 
dreams. 

" Hither the minstrels throng — 
The masters wearing laurels centuries old, 



A DREAMLAND CITY. 115 

Bards who the harp-strings smote with fingers 
bold, 
And they whose softer lays with faltering lips 
were told. 

" Nor they alone whose brows 
On earth the victor's sparkling wreath have 

worn, 
These, too whom Fate of every bliss hath 
shorn, 
Save of the matchless boon — that they were 
singers born." 

Even as he spoke there rolled 
From out that inner shrine a tide of song. 
Each outer voice the anthem bore along ; 
The angel at my side responded full and strong. 

" This is, indeed, my home ! " 
I cried. " Here every grief I may forget ; 
Here even for me are peace and rapture met." 
My guide, in tender voice replied, " Not yet." 

The dream was at an end. 
Yet in its light I walked through many days, 
Seeing no darkness in them, for my gaze 
Illumined once, still burned with the celestial rays. 



116 LYRICS. 

Now singing as I go, 
Little I heed although the path is long; 
Light from above hath made my spirit 
strong, — 
It is enough to be the humblest child of Song. 

And I will be content 
To love her for herself ; with homage sweet 
To sing unheard, unanswered at her feet, 
Till in some other life I make my song complete. 



RECOMPENSE. 

Grieve not, beloved, that in such narrow space 
Your hopes must still their sparkling plumage 

hide, 
Brooding unseen : while others sing and soar, 
That you alone go in and out no more. 
Write on the threshold of this prison place — 
Eternity is wide! 

Sigh not that years unanswering pass away, 
And life seems all a mockery and a wrong : 
The morning and the evening swiftly blend ; 
Soon as the sorrow and the silence end, 
A thousand years shall be as yesterday — 
Eternity is long! 



SONG PHANTOMS. 

They are flitting all about us, 
Fairy forms and faces fair, 
Glancing wings of white and silver, 
Spirits not of earth nor air. 
Phantoms of the songs unsung, 
Of unuttered minstrelsy, 
In the noon and in the night 
Still they call to thee and me, 
"Follow! follow! 
" And the song thine own shall be ! " 

In the rosy morning sunlight 

Now behold ! thy float and gleam, 
Yet shalt thou perceive them nearer 
In the twilight's dusk and dream. 
Softer than all spoken words 
Then their elfin voices ring, 
Sweeter than all chanted hymns 
As they vanish, still they sing — 
" Follow ! follow ! 
Catch the song upon the wing ! " 

118 



SONG PHANTOMS. 119 

Not a brooklet down the valley 

All unhaunted rambles on, 
With its limpid wave are blended 

Sacred drops from Helicon. 

And the mountains as they burn 

In the sunset's fiery gold, 

Shine with the mysterious light 

That Parnassus wore of old. 
"Follow! follow! 
And the Muses' shrine behold." 

Happy nymph and hapless Echo 

Haunt the wood with ceaseless tone, 

Other flowers than famed Narcissus 
Veil a beauty not their own. 
Sighing from the forest bough 
Smiling o'er the rainbow bar, 
Beckoning from the white sea-foam 
Whispering from the vesper star — 
" Follow ! follow ! 

Bring the spoils of song from far ! ' : 

Oft o'ercome by their enchantment 

We arise and hasten on, — 
Follow far through vale and highland 

Till the witching sprite is won. 

Ah ! at touch of mortal hand 



120 LYRICS. 

See the rainbow plumage fade ! 
That we sought with rapture sweet 
Fails us when our quest is stayed. " 
Far we follow, 
And we only reach the shade. 

Yet with tireless, glad devotion 

We go on with eager feet, 
For the path is ever starward, 
And the wayside bloom is sweet. 
Though we gain but broken not 
Of the hidden minstrelsy, 
Yet we breathe diviner air, 
Heavenly heights beyond we see. 
We will follow ! 
Ours at last the song shall be ! 



UP THE RIVER. 

The barge at sunset left the shore 

With clanging hand and banner flying, 
Far out at sea we gazed once more, 

The dim, blue line of sky descrying ; 
Then as we floated up the bay, 
We idly watched the sparkling ray 
Which on the brightening waters lay, — 
A golden sky, a golden river. 

How eerie-like the summer night 

Descends to greet the kindred deep ! 
Her garments shed a magic light 

As o'er the rippling wave they sweep. 
The golden hour of sunset past, 
The clouds of amber fading fast, 
Grown softer, darker, see at last 
A violet sky, a violet river ! 

As mists of evening gather dark, 

Diana shows her silver bow, 
And now each swift or anchored bark 

Is mirrored in the deep below. 
121 



122 LYRICS. 

We know not in their ghostly mien 
Those dim, white sails that skyward lean ; 
Real and unreal they hang between 

A shadowy sky and shadowy river. 

The wind is down, the tide runs low, 
The barge creeps up the current slowly, 

The banks more steep and craggy grow, 
Or darken into woodlands lowly; 

And surely yonder peerless star 

Shows where the gates of dreamland are ! 

The pathway brightens near and far 

In sparkling sky and sparkling river. 

And now what lights are those that gleam 

From yonder heights with beckoning ray? 
Has Norembega's wizard beam 

Shone forth to mock our homeward wry ? 
O no ! the lights burn true and fair, 
The "welcome home" awaits us there — 
Play out, gay band, your sweetest air ! 
Good night to starry sky and river ! 



HAIL AND FAREWELL. 
I. 

Bloom, rosy hours, from amber dawn unfold- 
ing 
To noon's imperial splendor, to twilight's 
violet gloom, 
All the lost sweetness of forgotten summers 
Lives once again in your intense perfume. 

Sing, joyous birds ! to dreaming sky and 
river, 
Unto the waiting winds a soul melodious 
give ; 
Till every heart and voice awakes inspired to 
echo 
Your highest note of rapture — " how sweet 
it is to live ! " 

n. 

Fade, summer day! unbind thy glowing gar- 
land, 
Look from the gate of sunset and smile on 
earth once more ; 

123 



124 LYRICS. 

Fade and farewell ; so tranquil be thy slumber, 
The angel stars shall hasten forth thy beauty 
to adore. 

Ebb, rapid tide! the dying day reflecting, 
Flow fast, ye golden billows, your ocean 
heaven is nigh, 
Melt cloud and wave, in grander deeps dis- 
solving, 
And tell to the departing soul — " how blest 
it is to die/" 



A SEASIDE PICTURE. 

A broad, bright bay whose tossing waves 
So sparkle in the sunlight's glare, 
They seem the stolen gems to wear 

Of all the nymphs in ocean's caves ; 

The foreground rich in woodland shore 
Of odorous cedar, moss grown pine, 
With boughs of lighter green that twine 

And bower the velvet pathways o'er. 

The distance an enchanting range 

Of island mountains, height on height, 
Where mists of morn and o-looms of nio*ht 

Have wrought a coloring rich and strange, — 

A vanishing and mystic hue 

Of blended green and violet dyes, 
And over all such sapphire skies 

As Titian's pencil never knew. 

Such is the picture I behold, 

And still in every changing light 

125 



126 LYRICS. 

Some hidden beauty steals in sight,- 
A cloud, a shade, a glint of gold. 

You ask upon what gallery's wall 
Is this midsummer radiance hung ? 
Its name was never said nor sung; 

A cottage window frames it all ! 



ISIS. 

Low at her feet I watch and dream, 

She will not lift her veil ; 
I dimly see a brow sublime 

And features grand and pale, 
And feel a mighty heart replies 
To all my rapture, or my sighs. 

She is so near her breathing falls 

On my attentive ear, 
She is so far the twilight stars 

Shine through her mantle clear ; 
As silent as the grave may be, 
And yet the soul of melody! 

The lotus trembling on her brow 

Exhales divine perfume, 
The mystic splendor of her smile 

Pervades my narrow gloom. 
The dearth of solitary hours 
She answers with a thousand flowers. 

127 



128 LYRICS. 

Oppressed with haunting, hindering cares 

My heart rebels at fate. 
She stoops to me, and lo ! I share 

Her own imperial state. 
I glide without my prison bars 
And walk with her the path of stars ! 

Forever sorrowful in death, 

Forever glad in birth, 
Her face the glory of the skies, 

Her steps the bloom of earth — 
As Nature's self, the fallen, the free, 
O Isis, I interpret thee! 



LOTUS-EATING. 

These perfect days were never meant 

For toil of hand or brain, 
But for such measureless content 

As heeds no loss nor gain ; 
Close held to Nature's flowery breast 
In deep midsummer rest. 

Within this woodland shade I feel 

The life of wind and tree ; 
Soft odors, tremulous boughs reveal 

Untutored ecstasy ; 
The wild bird's drowsy warble seems 
My own voice heard in dreams ! 

And yonder azure mountain brow 

Against the opal sky, 
The river's cool, melodious flow, 

The pine-tree's pensive sigh, 
Each utters forth my inmost mood 
Of blissful solitude. 

129 



130 LYRICS. 

That ever daring deeds were done, 

Or fiery flags unfurled, 
Is like a tale of glory won 

In some primeval world, 
Where under skies of angry hue 
Not yet the lotus grew ! 

O world, to-day in vain you hold 
The glittering branch of palm ; 

The lotus hath a flower of gold, 
A fruit of heavenly balm, 

And underneath the greenwood tree 

Are flower and fruit for me. 



A SUNSET AT SEAL POINT COTTAGE. 

Fhom the gray rocks that walled the beach 

We watched the sinking sun, 
Till as the last cloud curtain rolled 
Across his drooping crown of gold, 

We said " The day is done." 

The gateway of the West was closed, 

The King was seen no more ; 
And in the pensive even-glow 
We strayed with tranquil step and slow 

Along the grassy shore. 

But as we gazed, the Eastern sky 

Was lighted up anew : 
Long bars of gleaming, crystal green 
Across the heavens a dazzling sheen 

Of sudden splendor threw. 

The waves along the wide-stretched bay 
Awoke as if from sleep, 

131 



132 L YRICS. 

And trembling in a strange delight, 
Repelled the coming gloom of night 
And drank the radiance deep. 

Then purple banners richly wrought 

With many a golden sign, 
Waved glorious o'er the heavenly plain, 
And all the billows shone again 

With blazonry divine. 

And ever as a brighter hue 

Illumed the sky and flood, 
The mountains on the further shore, 
A darker, dreamier aspect wore, 

And with us watching stood. 

Still flushed the deepening tints, and now 

A lurid lustre came, 
And as with sacrificial fire 
The orient burned with splendors dire, 

The sea with tossing flame ! 

And once again a wondrous change — 

For over all the skies 
Swift fading as the night came down, 
Were leagues of roses, brightly blown, 

Of pure, celestial dyes ! 



SUNSET AT SEAL POINT COTTAGE. 133 

Fast as they bloomed in heaven they she 

Their petals on the sea ! 
Till in a rosy wave of light 
They vanished from our raptured sight, 

A twilight mystery. 

Homeward beneath the whispering trees 
We walked and spoke no word ; 

For we had seen with living eyes, 

On sunset sea and sunset skies, 
The glory of the Lord. 



BLACK-CAP MOUNTAIN. 

By winding paths, through woods of pine 
Deep fringed with fragrant fern and vine, 

Old mosses gray beneath our feet, 
Wild, forest odors strong and sweet, 

Brief spaces where a golden rain 
Of sunshine sifts, and here again 

Intenser glooms of cliff and tree 
Whence some lone bird calls plaintively, 

Thus on we move, as in a dream, 
Nor know which pleasure is supreme, 

Till on the mountain's opening height 
All senses lose themselves in sight ! 

Fair, fair the picture we behold ! 
A long, dim range of mountains rolled 

134 



BLACK-CAP MOUNTAIN 135 

Against the soft October sky, 

Seem wrapped in contemplation hign . 

Far-reaching forests stretch below, 
Resplendent with autumnal glow 

Of fiery colors, and amid 

These leagues of shade, bright waters hid, 

Clear, lucid lakes that sparkling rest 
Like pearls on Nature's drowsy ' >reast. 

We almost hear the ripples break 
On Chimo's lily-spangled lake, 

While far off, like a cloud at rest, 
We know Katahdin's kingly crest. 

The giant shadows bending low 
With soft, slow footfall come and go, 

Their cool, gray garments trailing wide 
Along each billowy mountain side. 

No hint of dust or toil to mar 
The living picture shows so far ; 



136 LYRICS. 

Though long we gaze, the vision grows 
In perfect beauty and repose. 

O when from some sublimer height 
These earthly scenes are full in sight, 

May all our past transfigured lie 
So far, so fair, in memory's eye, 

The beauty and the bliss alone 
Still visible, and still our own. 



RIVERSIDE. 

In the house which is my own, 
Though no living eye can read 
The invisible title deed 

Which makes it mine alone, — 

In the room where my heart and I 
In still communion sit, 
Though as in and out we flit 

None heed us passing by, — 

I look from the windows three, 
And pictures manifold 
Of the new and of the old 

With tireless gaze I see. 

The river, near and deep, 

With such endless music flows 
That into my thought it grows, 

And I hear it in my sleep. 

The trees that o'er it bend, 
Though rugged, old, and gray, 

137 



138 LYRICS. 

I have talked with day by day, 
With each as with a friend. 

And yonder far-off range 
« Of hills have said to me 

In each change of destiny, 
"Behold! we never change." 

I have lifted up mine eyes 
And drank their deep repose ; 
I have shared the calm which flows 

Both from the earth and skies. 

From this window I have seen 
Sunsets of pomp untold, 
Islands of rose uprolled 

From lakes of luminous sheen. 

And after the sunset, far 
In the blue halls of the sky 
I have seen the young moon lie 

In her cradle rocked by a star. 

Again and oft again 

From yonder window wide, 
I have seen her like a bride 

Walk heaven's resplendent plain. 



RIVERSIDE. 139 

Then the river in its dream 

Was changed to a bridge of light, 
And plume and banner white 

Passed over its brilliant beam. 

All this may strangers see ; 

Yet other sights remain, 

Which shall be sought in vain, 
For they only come to me. 

The Indian's evening blaze 

Beneath yon broad armed pine, 
For me alone shall shine 

Out of remembered days. 

The true friend's signal light 
From the home across the way, 
Shall burn to life's last day, 

Steadfast and strong and bright. 

And if I look no more 

At these pictures far and near, 

Within are scenes as dear, 
And I view them o'er and o'er. 

For my shadow-sister stands 

In the door, and her sweet, dead eyes 



140 LYRICS. 

Are filled with a sad surprise 
As she touches me with her hands. 

" Here I was wont to come," 

She sighs ; " in the nights so still 
I have wandered here at will : 

Oh, is not this thy home ? " 

And phantom children glide 
Across the fireside glow; 
Their pale lips murmur low, 

" Here we were born, — and died." 

Nearer the voices come, 
The faces grow more fair ; 

The loved and lost are there, 
For to them it is my home. 

O phantoms pass not by ! 
O river and moaning trees, 
My answer is on the breeze, 

In the gloaming " Here ami!" 

None knows as I have known 
The house by the river side, 
Nor years nor space divide 

The spirit from its own. 



TO BEETHOVEN. 

I hear the voice of thy great, pensive soul, 

In the deep shadow of this summer night, 
While far sea waves accordant anthems roll 

From their unfathomed fountains of delight. 
I hear thy voice and all my heart is still ; 

Hushed in the presence of thy gift divine, 
I dream that notes from God's eternal hill, 

From harps that in His awful presence shine, 
Have floated from on high 
To sing with Night her vesper hymn of glory, 

But while I listen, lo ! it passes by 
And leaves me musing o'er thy mournful story. 

Thou wast a High Priest of the human heart ! 

Holy of Holies was unveiled to thee> 
Which thou didst enter in and reverently 

Make all its mysteries of thy theme a part. 
All longings for the infinite good unknown, 

And tears for broken idols left behind, 
All hopes for buds of beauty yet unblown, 

And deeper yearnings still in shadow shrined, 

141 



142 LYRICS. 

All the unspoken pain 
Or gladness that within the spirit slumbers, 
All that the Poet strives to reach in vain, 
'T was thine to utter forth in perfect numbers. 

Master of all the spirit's richest deeps! 

Of human nature's grandest, holiest part, 
Blessed wast thou in uttering what the heart 

From all the world in sacred stillness keeps! 
O blessed is the soul where Genius lives ! 

All suffering is a veiled joy to him ; 
To his rich life all earthly anguish gives 

A midnight glory, beautiful and dim. 

Out from that midnight calm 

Thy gifted spirit's voice serenely flowing, 

Breathes o'er the world's heart like a golden 
psalm, 
Sweeter and sadder still forever growing. 



FROM ROME. 

Here lies a spray of maiden-hair, 
Tossed over ocean's wintry foam, 

A fairy fern, so light, so fair, 
It grew, for me, in Rome ! 

Day after day with sinking heart 
I saw my summer treasures go, 

The last bright leaves in flame depart, 
The dead earth draped in snow. 

While all unseen, unknown to me, 

Italia's airs of balmy blue 
This leaflet ripened tenderly, 

And hid from heedless view. 

No step but thine, Beloved, near 
The fated loveliness might stray, 

No eyes to me less true and dear, 
Perceive the emerald spray. 

And yesterday, while fierce and fast 
Midwinter raged along the land, 

143 



144 LYRICS. 

Safe borne across the waves, at last 
It lay within my hand. 

O fairy token ! I can see 

The ruin old and rich in fame, 

Where late my friend remembered me, 
And softly spoke my name. 

The sculptured fountain's snowy fall, 
The rustle of the olive leaves, 

The stained and broken marble, — all 
My quickened sight perceives. 

And more, far more, O friend of mine, 
This dear Italian floweret brings, 

It is a promise and a sign 
Even of immortal things. 

Thus all unseen, while earthly skies 
Grow dark, and earthly summers flee, 

In Heaven's own clime some glad surprise 
Unfolds for thee and me. 



OBERAMMERGAU. 

The hamlet is in shadow, yet the light 

Clings to the cross on yonder summit hoary, 
And wide along the hillside seems to fall 

A benediction and a vesper glory. 
Surely some radiant Presence hovering there, 
With shining arms uplifted, calls to prayer ! 
And unseen choristers glide to and fro, 
Under the lindens, w T hen the sun is low. 

Flame, mountain cross, in the departing day ! 

Glow in the sunrise with a rosy splendor ! 
An altar-fire to which the 'hills bow down, 

And the hushed valleys meek devotion render. 
The world grows cold with unbelief, but here 
The Christ of Calvary is ever near, 
And beautiful with a perpetual youth 
Blooms simple Faith around immortal Truth. 

145 



WHAT CHEER? 

The daylight is dying ; how weary and wan 

It sinks to its sleep on the sea's purple breast ! 
As its last robe of beauty is folded away, 
One funeral star rises out of the west. 
What cheer, prophet star, that with sweet, human 

eye 
Beamest down on this sad world so pityingly ? 
Thou dost read all the mysteries of silence and 

night, 
And each shadow is changed in thy magical 
light. 

O hear ! 
Did an angel answer, or was it the sta? 
That wafted a voice through the silence afar? 
" Good cheer, doubting spirit ! the red rose of 

dawn 
On the breast of the desolate midnight is born ; 
Good cheer ! " 

To the muffled music of wind and of rain 
The dreary November is passing away. 

146 



WHAT CHEER? 147 

There is gloom on the forest, the hill, and the 

plain, 
And wild ocean foams like a lion at bay. 
Weary year, dying year, let it haste to the tomb, 
All its beauty is vanished, its strength and its 

bloom : 
Who would keep the pale spectre a guest at his 

hearth ? 
But what cheer for the heart as it fades from the 

earth ? 

O hear ! 
With its utterance low comes that voice from on 

high, 
Giving back to my sighing its blessed reply — 
"Good cheer ! a new life, a new year shall arise 
And fill with its glory the earth and the skies ! 
Good cheer ! " 

Answer once more, O thou beautiful star ! 

Chase the last doubt from my spirit away, 
I too, like the year, must be gathered to dust, 

My youth in its brightness shall fade like the 
day. 
Must my beautiful visions lie down with me ? 
Must my hopes in the grave bear me company? 
And all that I yearned for of glory and bloom, 
Go out, like a lamp, in the chill of the tomb ? 



148 LYRICS. 

O hear ! 
Whether angel answered, or only a star, 
Of joy and of promise the tidings are ! 
" For thy feet there are paths which no mortal 

hath trod, 
For thy hope there is room in the gardens of God ! 

Good cheer ! " 



A VIGIL. 

All-Souls' Day ! Where have I heard or read 
An old-time legend, sad and sweet, 

That to-night return the remembered dead 
And walk among us with shadowy feet? 

The watcher heedeth no sight nor sound, 

But till dawn is breaking they throng around. 

Beloved ! thou hast been gone from me 
A year and a day. I will watch to-night. 

My door shall be left ajar for thee ; 

I will brighten my fire and trim my light, 

And musing softly on other days, 

Vigil I '11 keep by the midnight blaze. 

Are there untold joys in those realms above, 
With whose meaning mortals may vainly cope ? 

Blooms there a sweeter rose than love? 
Sings there a happier bird than hope? 

Was the waking all that thy dream foretold 

Of palm and palace and gates of gold ? 

149 



150 LYRICS. 

Thou didst love me truly, I doubt it not. 

To part was bitter though silent pain ; 
In that far-off realm am I yet forgot? 

Is mourning empty and memory vain? 
Hark ! was that a whisper, so soft, so near ? 
It is but the sighing wind I hear. 

How fair to me was thy fading face, 

Touched with a tender and tranquil glow 

Heaven had lent thee its promised grace — 
A coming rapture was on thy brow. 

Thy smile — ah ! what shines so within the door ? 

Only the moonlight just touching the floor. 

We were happy, love, in those summer days, 
The days of sunshine so bright, so long, 

Pleasant our walks by the flowery ways, 
Sweet the communing by word and song. 

Listen ! — O melody come once again ! 

All silent. I must have been dreaming, then. 

I hear the wash of the troubled tide 

As it breaks on the cold, unheeding shore, 

The elm trees grieve by the river side, 

And the murmuring pines reply " no more." 

Low in the east hangs the star of dawn. 

Has the angel- visitant come and gone? 






A VIGIL. 151 

Surely one moment she stooped to see 
The light on my hearth, and her glance was 
kind. 

Such presence veiled from our sight must be ; 
The dead are not faithless, though we are blind. 

In the light of the same undying love 

We watch below, and they watch above. 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

When the hunter's moon is waning, 

And hangs like a crimson bow, 
And the frosty fields of morning 

Are white with a phantom snow ; 
Who then is the beautiful spirit, 

That wanders, smiles, and grieves 
Along the desolate hill-sides, 

And over the drifted leaves ? 

She has strayed from the far-off dwelling 

Of forgotten Indian braves, 
And stolen wistfully earthward 

Over the path of graves; 
She has left the cloudy gateway 

Of the hunting-grounds ajar, 
To follow the trail of the summer 

Toward the morning star. 

There 's a rustle of soft, slow footsteps, 

The toss of a purple plume, 
And the glimmer of golden arrows 

Athwart the hazy gloom. 

152 



INDIAN SUMMER. 153 

'Tis the smoke of the happy wigwams 

That reddens our wintry sky, 
The scent of unfading forests 

That is dreamily floating by. 

O shadow sister of summer! 

Astray from the world of dreams, 
Thou wraith of the bloom departed, 

Thou echo of springtide streams, 
Thou moonlight and starlight vision 

Of a day that will come no more, 
Would that our love might win thee 

To dwell on this stormy shore ! 

But the roaming Indian goddess 

Stays not for our tender sighs ; 
She has heard the call of her hunters 

Beyond the sunset skies ! 
By her beaming arrows stricken 

The last leaves fluttering fall, 
With a sigh and a smile she has vanished, 

And darkness is over all. 



BANGOR CENTENNIAL HYMN. 

1769-1869. 

God of our days ! Thy guiding power 

Sustained the lonely pioneer 
Who first, amid the forest shades, 

His evening camp-fire kindled here. 
To thee a welcome sacrifice, 
Its smoke ascended to the skies. 

God of the years ! As summers fled, 

Within the wild, new homes were reared, 

New gardens bloomed, new altars flamed, 
And songs of praise the Sabbaths cheered, 

Until the fair, young city stood 

Gem of the eastern solitude. 

God of the centuries! To-day 

A hundred years their tale have told, 

And lingering in their solemn shade 
We listen to the days of old. 

To us how vast the centuries flight, 

To Thee as watches in the night. 

154 



BANGOR CENTENNIAL HYMN 155 

God of eternity ! Thy hand 
To nobler hills has beckoned on 

The fathers, who by many toils 
For us this pleasant dwelling won. 

With them hereafter may we raise 

Celestial cities to Thy praise ! 



WINTER OUR GUEST. 

He is come, the guest unbidden, 
Guest unwelcome, sure to tarry. 
While we lingered in the doorway, 
Saying farewells fond and tender 
To the dark-browed Indian summer, 
Sunburned, beautiful enchantress, 
While we watched her slow departure 
With regretful, pensive feeling, 
Lo ! a chariot rolling swiftly 
Brought a traveller to our door ! 

Stern old Winter ! See he enters 
As if sure of right unquestioned, 
Heeding not our gloomy faces, 
Our half-uttered salutations ; 
On the threshold waits a moment, 
Doffs and shakes his cloak of ermine, 
And the air is filled with downy 
Flakes that fall in feathery flight. 

Once within, with steady footsteps 
To the very shrine and altar 

156 



WINTER OUR GUEST. 157 

Of our household he advances. 
Underneath his shaggy forehead, 
Grim and stern with many a wrinkle, 
Gleam his eyes so cold and steely. 
Closer cling the little children 
To our side, and look with timid 
Glances on the strange intruder, 
Shrinking from his icy hand. 

Sometimes when the windows darken 
With the clouds of snow descending, 
When the wind escaped from prison, 
Holds a revel with the snow-wraith, 
Then the frown of some old viking 
Darkens on his rugged features. 
And as nearer, wilder, louder 
Rolls the battle wave of tempest, 
Fierce and fiercer grows his visage, 
And in undertones he mutters 
Of the storms of all the ages, 
As he holds unseen communion 
With the spirits of the air. 

But he is not always sullen, 
Brooding over thoughts revengeful ; 
When the early sunlight glitters 
On the snow-fields, heavy laden 



158 LYRICS. 

With a magic, midnight harvest — 
When the trees which bare and ghastly 
Bent before the evening tempest, 
In the morning stand transfigured 
Into lovely flowering almonds, 
Every branch a mass of blossom 
White as down and pure as crystal, 
Then the aged brow is softened, 
And the voice prophetic utte: 3 
Promise of a fruitful burden 
To the glistening fields and boughs. 

And again when bells are chiming 
In the moonlight and the starlight 
Of the saintly Christmas even, 
When the lights in every window 
Show sweet faces bright with pleasure, - 
All the brightness is reflected 
In his eyes, and fearless fingers 
Twine his hoary locks with holly. 
Then beneath the lighted fir-tree, 
Brilliant with a fairy fruitage, 
Sits he like a king, dispensing 
Royal gifts with royal smiles. 

Long he tarries, but he listens 
When the dnys are growing longer, 



WINTER OUR GUEST. 159 

Listens till he hears the laughter, 
Rippling in the sunny distance, 
Of the winsome April maiden. 
As we spring up in our gladness 
Echoing back her song of welcome, 
He will gaze into our faces 
As if fain awhile to linger. 
But as nearer comes the dancing, 
Mirthful, musical young goddess, 
With the scent of early violets 
Shed from her sun-lighted tresses, 
He will totter to the threshold, 
Looking, lingering, O so wistful ! 
Till with late, repentant kindness, 
As he sadly is departing, 
We will touch his cold, wan fingers, 
Saying softly — " Friend, farewell ! " 



IMMORTELLES. 

Here bloom no flowers. The river glides 
Beneath the shade of sombre pines, 
The bank is rich with purpling vines 
That lean to watch the changing tides. 
But garden beds and walks for me 
Have lost their olden witchery, 
Since, trusting they would spring again 
Beneath the sunshine and the rain, 
I planted deep my Immortelles. 

And that was long ago. They sleep 
Unmindful of caressing dews, 
Of all the kindred blossom hues 
That round their place of slumber creep. 
The west-wind sighs amid the leaves, 
The wild-bird answering, sweetly grieves, 
They hear nor heed ; alike unstirred 
By tenderest voice of wind or bird, 

They sleep, my spotless Immortelles. 

At times when down the darkened sky 
Rushes the storm on angry w r ing, 

160 



IMMORTELLES. 161 

When all the leaves are shuddering 
And the torn blossoms sob and sigh, 
I think of them, — in earth's fond breast 
Held in such still and perfect rest, 
And I am comforted to know 
O'er them no blighting wind can blow, 
No ruin reach my Immortelles ! 

The days are long, but calm and strong 
Will Love's own presence on them wait, 
And fear no league with Death nor Fate. 
Sure is the joy though tarrying long. 
Each year new promise seems to bring, 
New signals of eternal spring. 
Perhaps ere Summer fades my eyes 
Will see my flowers of Paradise — 
Will look upon my Immortelles. 

The hour will come ; a twilight gloom, 
With flowers upon the pillow laid 
By hands that tremble, half-afraid 
Of the strange stillness in my room. 
O friends, fear not ! My eyes will be 
No longer holden. I shall see 
In all their passion of perfume, 
In all their brilliancy of bloom, 

My own, my deathless Immortelles. 



CONSOLATION. 

Nature is not pitiless ! 

When upon some sudden woe 
Mornings glitter, sunsets glow 

As in glad unconsciousness, 

When upon our dead delight 

Sweet winds play and roses bloom, 
And we seem to have no room 

For our sorrow, and no right — 

Then, ah ! then could we but know 
From what wealth of bliss eternal 
Nature's joyance, fresh and vernal, 

Overflows upon our woe, — 

From what opulence of light 

She shines down upon our grief, 
Till in glimpses comes relief 

As the star-beams to the night, — 

From all doubting we should cease, 
Knowing that our faltering glance 

162 



CONSOLATION. 163 

Faints and falls in the expanse 
Of a universe of peace. 

Mother Nature, fair and grand, 

Mocks us not, but round us throwing 
Her warm arms, with love o'erflowing 

Bids us w r ait and understand. 

Then we see that air and sky- 
Throb with beauteous, boundless life, 
Winds and woods and waves are rife 

With unfailing melody. 

Every discord of to-day, 

Ocean's moan or tempest's jar, 

Ere it can the chorus mar, 
Drowned in music dies away. 

And we dimly feel and know 

Something deep within keeps time 
To the wonderful glad rhyme 

Of the ages as they flow. 

Something mightier than pain, 
Heaven's own echo in the heart, 
Bids us rise and take our part 

In the song of life again. 



164 LYRICS. 

Therefore Nature, loving Sage, 

Smiles the brighter when we weep, 
Knowing that we can but keep 

Our eternal heritage. 



SONNETS. 



165 




SONNETS. 



ORIENT TO OCCIDENT. 

Mine is the elder right, the ancient throne, 
The purple of the centuries is mine ! 
The birthplace of the race, its earliest shrine 

Was to my ever blooming gardens known. 

Upon my dewy sunrise slopes has grown 

The tree of Knowledge, of whose fruit divine 
Have feasted bard and sage, a noble line, — 

The fountains of all history are my own. 

My fields are white with harvests of brave deeds 
And rich with blood of heroes, and the air 
Is sweet with songs of victory heard afar ; 

Mine are the elder gods, the cradle creeds 

Of the wild north, the fervent south, and fair 
On my horizon rose the Bethlehem Star. 

167 



OCCIDENT TO ORIENT. 

Wear thy proud honors still, imperial East, 
Thou warrior of the ages ! but for me 
A new day dawns, — a fairer history 

Than ever graced the scroll of seer or priest ; 

For Liberty from ancient thrall released 
Calls to the nations over land and sea, 
To the oppressed who should be strong and 
free, 

To sit with her at a perpetual feast. 

My poets sing no more of battling foes, 
But in this true Valhalla of the West 
Shall god-like wisdom, arts divine, increase ; 

And here the star that on Judea rose, 

Shall light the long-sought gardens of the 

Blest, — 
The home of nations and the throne of Peace. 



168 



THE SEVEN DAYS. 
I. 

DAY OF THE MOON. 

Diana, sister of the sun, thy ray 

Governs these opening hours. The world is 

wide; 
We know not what new evil may betide 
This six days' journey ; by what unknown 

way 
We come at last unto the royal day 
Of prophecy and promise. O preside, 
Propitious, and our doubting footsteps guide 
Onward and sunward. Long in shadows gray 
We have but slumbered ; hidden from our 
view 
Knowledge and wisdom in unfruitful night. 
But if upon the dawn's unfolding blue 

Thy hand .to-day our destiny must write, 
Once more our outer, inner life renew 

With Heaven's first utterance, "Let there he 
lights 

169 



170 SONNETS. 

II. 

DAY OF THE WAR-GOD. 

Fear not, O soul, to-day ! the kingly Mars 
Leads on the hours, a brave and warlike train, 
Fire in his glance and splendor in his reign, 

From the first glitter through the sunrise bars 

Till his red banner flames among the stars. 
Thou, too, go forth, and fully armed maintain 
Duty and right : the hero is not slain, 

Though pierced and wounded in a hundred 
wars. 

For daring deeds are deathless. He alone 
Is victor, who stays not for any doom 

Foreshadowed ; utters neither sigh nor moan, 
Death -stricken, but right onward, his fair plume 
Scorched in the battle-flame, through smoke 
and gloom 

Strikes for the right, nor counts his life his own. 

III. 

DAY OF ODIN". 

The mighty Odin rides abroad, and earth 

Trembles and echoes back his ghostly sigh, — 
More deep than thought, more sad than memory. 

The very birds sing low in timid mirth, 



THE SEVEN DAYS. 171 

For in the forest sudden gusts have birth, 
And harsh against the pale appealing sky 
Ascends his ravens' melancholy cry. 

Peace be with Odin ! Of his ancient worth 

Many and grand the tales we will repeat, 
For sacred memories to these hours belong. 

But yesterday with reckless speed our feet 
Dared the bold height. With spirit no less 
strong 

To-day step softly. After battle's heat 

Warriors and wars are only themes for song. 



IV. 

DAY OF THOR. 

White-robed, white-crowned, and borne by steeds 
snow-white, 

The Thunderer rolls along the echoing skies. 

No hour is this to dream of past emprise, 
Of with old runes the memory to delight. 
The mountain tops with prophet beams are 
bright, 

The eagle soars aloft with jubilant cries — 

Thou, too, unto the hills lift up thine eyes, 
To some new throne these sacred signs invite. 
Learn thy own strength; and if some secret sense 

Of power untried pervades thy low estate, 



172 SOKNfiTS. 

Bend thy soul's purest, best intelligence 
To seek the mastery of time and fate. 

Courage and deathless hope and toil intense 
Are the crown-jewels of the truly great. 



DAY OF LOVE AND PLEASURE. 

In the world garden, walled with living green, 
The foam-born goddess of delight to-day 
Plucks glorious blossoms for her own array. 
Poppies and myrtle in her wreath are seen, 
And roses, bending o'er her brow serene, 
Blush to perceive she is more fair than they. 
Sweet grasses at her feet their odors lay, 
And doves, low warbling, hover o'er their 

queen. 
In this brief life shall ever toil and care 

Hold fast our wishes? Earth's bewildering 
bowers, 
Her streams melodious and her woodlands 
fair, 
Are palaces for gods. The world is ours! 
Beauty and love our birthright, — we will 
share 
The sunshine and the singing and the 
flowers. 



THE SEVEN DAYS. 173 

VI. 

DAY OF SATURN". 

Though bright with jewels, and with garlands 
dressed, 

The bloom decays, the world is growing old. 

Lost are the days when peaceful Saturn told 
The arts to men, and cheered their toil or rest 
With eloquence divine. The Olympian guest 

Took with him in his flight the age of gold. 

Westward through myriad centuries has rolled 
The ceaseless pilgrimage, the hopeless quest 
For the true Fatherland. Through weary years 

What if some rainbow glory spans the gloom, 
Some strong, sweet utterance the wayside cheers. 

Or gladness opens like a rose in bloom ? 
Step after step the fatal moment nears, 

Earth for new graves is ever making room. 

VII. 

DAY OF THE SUN. 

Thou glorious Sun ! illumining the blue 

Highway of Heaven ! to thy triumphant rays 
The earth her shadow yields, the hill-tops 
blaze, — 

Up lifts the mist, up floats the morning dew. 



174 SONNETS. 

Old things u,re passed away, the world is new ! 

Labor is changed to rest, and rest to praise ! 

Past are the weary heights, the stormy days,- 
The eternal future breaks upon our view. 
Last eve we lingered, uttering our farewe 1 

But lo! One met us in the early light 
Of this divinest morn. The tale He tells 

Transfigures life and opens Heaven to sight. 
Bring altar flowers ! lilies and asphodels ! 

Sing jubilates ! There is no more night. 



LONGFELLOW. 

Whither, beloved spirit, art thou fled ? 

Couldst thou not linger with thine own, at least 
Till the glad singing at thy birthday feast 

Had died away ? Still fresh upon thy head 

Th3 perfume of love's latest wreath is shed. 
Thy new year's daybreak reddens in the east, 
The warm air throbs with music not yet 
ceased — 

Why stand the minstrels hushed around thy bed? 

Falls thy own whisper from the fields divine — 
" There is no death ! " The angel Israfil, 
Flashing swift splendor on our startled gaze, 
But crowned and led thee home. No word nor 

sign 
We need to know thou art a poet still, 
And sweeter for thy songs are heaven's high- 
ways. 

175 



VICTORIA. 

The sovereign lady of dominions grand, 
Flower of a chivalrous and noble age, 
Hers is to-day a matchless heritage. 

The sceptre held within her gentle hand 

Shines with unsullied beam ; a starry band 
Of bards and sages write her history's page, 
While boundless love and loyalty presage 

Joy to her banners upon sea and land. 

But we, in this free land across the sea, 
Find in her fair and gracious womanhood 
A higher royalty. No more alone 

Can England claim her ; she has risen to be 
Queen among women. Simply great and good, 
In the world's heart Victoria has her throne. 

176 



v\ 



TO THE RAINBOW. 

Iris, bringing balm for summer's tears, 

So lightly stepping down thy bridge of rose, 
I know not why my spirit drinks repose 

Soon as thy footfall the horizon nears. 

Spell-bonnd I watch the crimson shaded piers, 
As arch by arch the blooming pathway grows, 
And where the warmest tint of color shows, 

1 trace thy trailing garment. Sighs and fears 
Are vanished ; in a long and ardent gaze 

Thy steps I follow down the heavenly slope. 
Iris ! be mine thy message ! Let thy rays 
Write out how I with destiny may cope. 
Ah ! spanned with light would be all coming 
days, 
Could I but read thy oracle of hope. 

177 



THE MAGIC FLUTE. 

A flute upon the water ! and I lean 

At the broad window in the moonlight clear, 
That low, wild, rippling melody to hear. 

A white batteau with dripping oar is seen 

Skimming the moonbeam path of silver sheen, 
And now a shadow into shadows drear 
It vanishes, yet to my longing ear 

The melody floats back, a sound serene 

Endowed by night with sweetness not its own. 
O happy player ! drifting down the tide, 

Half of thy music's charm thou hast not known ; 
With me alone its magic shall abide — 

For fairy lips with thine the strain have blown, 
And love's lost whisper in the echo sighed ! 

178 



MIDNIGHT. 

At midnight I behold, far past her prime, 
The pallid moon slow rising in the sky, 
A queen discrowned, her pomp and pride past 

by \ 

Pacing a joyless palace ; yet sublime 
In desolation, mindful of the time 

When reigned full-orbed her loveliness on 

high, 
And planets paled before her majesty. 
Now dumb and dread the hour ; not even a 

chime 
Of elfin music. Flower and leaf and bough 
Dream in the marble moonlight. Cold and 
bright 
The river sleeps, its tide at flood, and slow 

Soft clouds like phantoms gliding into sight 
Linger beneath the stars' funereal glow. 

The day is dead — thou art its spectre, Night ! 

179 



DAYBREAK. 

When out of heaven steals the first ray of dawn 
And wanders, lost, in labyrinths of night, 
The wakeful robin notes with quickened sight 

The half-affrighted herald of the morn. 

Softly he trills to cheer the beam forlorn, 
And others hear the signal, until bright 
Approach the bolder ranks of orient light, 

And night is of its shadowy terror shorn. 

Withdraw, O Hesper ! silver-mantled priest ! 
And quench with haste thy taper's dying ray : 

For now with sudden hush the birds have ceased, 
Rich banners float o'er the horizon gray, 

And past his fire-plumed escort, in the east 
Rides the anointed King, Imperial Day ! 

180 



FRIENDSHIP. 

It matters not if no more face to face 

I look on thee, my friend. Though sweet 

indeed 
To clasp thy hand in mine, there is no need ; 
Our perfect friendship knows no time nor place. 
Heart reaches heart across unmeasured space, 
Soul touches soul from ruder contact freed ; 
Ours is one hope, one life-work and one creed, 
One destiny the flying moments trace. 
The shadow of thy grief cannot depart 
Till it is fallen on me ; thy new delight 
Flashes swift radiance over land and sea. 
Such friendship is an Eden for the heart, 
In which it grows to blossom without blight, 
Gives itself wholly and is wholly free. 

181 



THE FLOWER PAINTER. 

i. 

She learned the dearest haunts in vale and wild 
Of summer's fairy nurslings. In her eyes 
The opening buds beheld with glad surprise 

Such loving recognition, that they smiled 

Ecstatic welcome. Nature pleased and mild 
Guided her hand to seek the precious dyes 
Kept hidden since the loss of Paradise, 

And with pure sense and spirit undefined 

She shared the secret with each flower that grew. 
Beneath her touch the treasures manifold 

Of fading summers lived in beauty new. 
The rose with glowing blush its story told, 
Violet and heart's-ease breathed in blue and 
gold, 

And spotless lilies sparkled with the dew. 

ii. 
And then her hand grew weary ; full and deep 
The cup of life and love, and beauty's ray 
Crowned her young brow as on her bridal day. 
Not hers the doom to linger and to weep, 
Nor feel the winds of stormy anguish sweep. 

182 



THE FLOWER PAINTER. 183 

Within her eyes strange, wistful shadows lay ; 
The pencil from her light grasp dropped away, 
And while the flowers slept, she too fell asleep. 

"But summer days are come; will she return 
Whose step a thousand blossoms yearn to greet?" 
O questioning flowers ! she has gone hence to 

learn 
If in that land your own life is complete ; 
If heavenward borne on wings of odor sweet 
Ye, too, in hues of deathless beauty burn. 



EBB AND FLOW. 

My river! Thou art like the poet's soul, 

Where tides of song perpetual ebb and flow. 

Like thine the current of his life runs low 
At times, his visions suffer loss and dole, 
And sunken griefs break through the waters 
shoal. 

Then while despair is tossing to and fro 

His stranded hope, a breath begins to blow 
From the great sea ! With rising swell and roll 
The waves of inspiration lift and float 

His being into broad and full expanse. 
Now rocks his fancy like an airy boat 

On wreathed billows ; his impassioned glance 
Little of cloud or reef or wreck will note, 

On the high tide of song in blissful trance. 

184 



HAPPINESS, 

Loxg time I looked in every passing face 
In search of happiness, — the signal light 
Of an interior flame, — the blossom-bright 

Midsummer of the soul, — but found no trace 

Till yesterday in a most lonely place, 

One on whose heart had fallen woful blight, 
Said to me — " In the heaviness of night 

I can remember Joy's supremest grace ! " 

O Fortunate ! Once to have felt the glow 
Of full delight ; to bear within the breast 
Even the ashes of life's perfect bloom. 
Earth gives no more ; the happiness we know 
Is veiled when with us, — in the vanished guest 
We first perceive an angel's fleeting plume. 

185 



SOUNDS FROM HOME. 

Why, when sweet sounds are borne upon the air, 
Doth such a homesick longing, not all pain, 
A gladness greater than we can sustain, 
Enthrall the sense, until we seem to share 
Joys of some higher realm, we know not where? 
Doth then the spirit for a moment gain 
Ascendency o'er powers that long have lain 
Dormant beneath a load of earthly care, 
And recognize the sounds and sisrhs of home? 
O Melody ! the subtle power is thine 
The inmost deeps of memory to reach, 
The heights supreme of hope, till we are come 
Near the soul's fatherland : we touch the line 
Beyond which music is the only speech. 

186 



FAR AXD NEAR. 

This little picture from across the sea 

Shows me a foreign rity's stately square, 

A sculptured column piercing the erne air 
With;:: its midst, and fountains dashing tree 
On either side, while many a bowery tree 

Shades the wide pathways from the summer's 
glare. 

Princes of art and song have wandered there 
In years gone by: yet is i: more :: me 
That in yon olden palace, looking down 

Uh on the winged ma:bles. dwells to-day 
The beautiful com nth. 

Who, roving through the fair, historic town, 

Thinks of me still, and wafts from far away 
The blest aroma of a warm heart's truth. 

1ST 



FOREST WORSHIP. 

We stood beneath the shadow of the wood 
In Nature's own Cathedral. High in air 
Hemlock and pine tree met in arches fair, 

And at our feet, as if they understood 

The forest's Sabbath's hushed, expectant mood, 
The waves flowed back, till in the mid-day 

glare 
The gray rocks stood like monks with foreheads 
bare. 

Suddenly from the inner solitude 

A choir of sparrows in long, sweet refrain 
Intoned a litany. There was no room 
For priest nor psalm nor any spoken word, 

For here the Spirit often sought in vain 

Brooded at peace, and in the tranquil gloom 
We almost heard the footsteps of our Lord. 

188 



ISOLATION. 

Most solitary ! This is thy complaint ! 

Then teach thy brooding spirit to forsake 

Self-contemplation. Rise up and partake 
Of Nature's converse. She hath fancies quaint, 
Poetic moods, love legends without taint, 

Such as the wild-bird tells by brook and brake, 

Or the white lily dreams upon the lake, 
Seen but by cloud and star, a vestal saint. 
The forest bud expands in perfect bloom, 

The meadow pool Heaven's starry splendor 
knows ! 
So thou superior to thy lonely doom, 

May'st win each grace the fleeting hour 
bestows, 
Until all redolent of rare perfume 

Thy wilderness shall blossom as the rose. 

189 



ALTAR FLOWERS. 

He loved them, — and what offering more meet- 
Wherewith to deck this pleasant, peaceful 

place, 
Than flowers, the living language of His grace. 
Dearer to Him than incense, for their sweet 
Adoring beauty drew His wayworn feet 

To linger near them. For their sake His face 
Grew luminous, though no brief delight could 
chase 
That sacred, inner shadow. See Him greet, 
With word and touch the lilies of the field ! 
That word has given them subtler power than 
speech, 
That touch has made them glorious; and the 
best 
The purest invocations we can yield, 
The praise our faltering accents fail to reach, 
We utter in the flowers that he has blest. 

190 



STAR SOLITUDE. 

I sometimes wonder if yon star of even 
Which has for everlasting ages shone 
Stately and fair on its immaculate throne, 
Ever looks forth, with sudden anguish riven, 
Into the silver space, reproaching heaven 
That in the very grandeur all its own 
A doom is fixed, to be for aye alone ! 
Eternal solitude with glory given. 

The cottage lamp shines cheerily and strong 
Into the mght. It tells of evening mirth, 
Of cradle music by the beaming hearth, 

Rest, comfort, pleasure that to Home belong. 

But thou, O Radiance ! high above the earth, 
Ever and only hearest thine own song ! 

191 



ST. CECILIA. 

When St. Cecilia, soul of song and fire, 

Heard angels sing the numbers which had 
lain 

Unutterable within her fervid brain, 
Heart-sick with hopeless, passionate desire, 
In fragments at her feet she dashed her lyre ! 

Broken, it could no longer mock her pain, 

Nor voice so ill the sweet, ideal strain 
Which rang melodious from the heavenly choir. 
O sad saint! was it not enough to know 

Such music livedo though still beyond thy 
reach ? 
And wiser far, with tender touch and slow, 

Thy instrument's mute helplessness to teach? 
Content if ever from its strings should flow 

Some syllables of that celestial speech ! 

192 



